Leila's Tears, Heaven's Cry
by Sivan IXXX
Summary: Leila is an orphaned rich girl living outside Jerusalem. One day, she discovers an enigmatic unconscious man in a forest. She takes him home and is met with hostility and Old World language. Where did he come from? Who is he? Complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! This is like the millionth story I've revised. Everyone must hate me! But please don't! Leila is better in this newer version and so is Altair. And now that the plot is clear in my head, prepare to be amazed. And be sure to drop a review for it. Leila's Tears had 34 reviews for 9 chapters (that's awesome!) and I thank everyone for so much support and feedback. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

**The quote you see below will be at the beginning of every chapter. Each quote will somehow connect to the chapter in some way. It's up to the reader to figure out the link. These original thoughts belong to me, so no one has permission to use them until I give permission.**

**_It's when another human is in danger that we realize the hero in ourselves. -TranquilTempest_**

* * *

Chapter One: Fallen Eagle

Another hot, muggy day in Jerusalem. A girl, living all alone--with the exception of her dog, Apollo, and her occasionally visiting cousin--was confined to the four walls of her home because it was too hot to step outside in the terrible heat wave. The air conditioning went out and her male relative, Khalil, said he would call the repair man first thing in the morning. But he was wiped out by heat stroke and was upstairs in the guest room with a cold towel on his forehead.

If she could, Leila would be sleeping in the refrigerator every night this crazy wave of unnatural heat went on. The house was in a complete mess of things--unwashed dishes, dirty clothes and video game controllers and cases were splayed out on the floor by the TV. Somnambulism had overtaken her, as well, and usually she was the one responsible enough to keep the house in order. If her parents were still around, they'd have given the girl a long lecture about accountability.

Apollo, who seemed to be unaffected by the heat, was just as spry as usual, watching the world with wide blue eyes. He turned to his master, who had one leg thrown over the side of the couch and the other on the carpeted floor. He got up and licked her hand, whimpering softly. Lazily, she opened her eyes and turned her head to the Malamute pup. She knew that begging look in his eye and rolled onto the floor, landing with a soft thud. Slowly, she got up to her feet and dragged them towards the door. The pup followed and watched as she put on her shoes and grabbed the leash out of the closet.

After latching it on, Leila opened the door and stepped outside. She thought she was going to melt into a puddle of brown goo on that doorstep. The high temperature outdoors was even worse than inside. Her first instinct was to turn right back around and go inside, but Apollo was pawing at her leg impatiently, meaning he couldn't wait.

Sighing, she allowed herself to be tugged down the stairs and into the grassy knoll by her house. This little gray dog was only six months, but he was quite strong, pulling a 130-pound woman like a rag doll into the densely wooded park across the street from her house. Leila had forgotten all about it. The trees grew so close together in there, they blocked out the sun completely in some areas. There were a few times when she and her brother were younger that they ventured so deep into the forest the sunlight was blocked out completely and they had to retrace their steps through absolute darkness, hand in hand. Leila used to get so scared, but with her brother holding her hand in his, she felt as if nothing could touch her. There were many days she wished he was still there--even a smile would make her happy.

Apollo finally stopped in front of a dead cypress and squatted. The myth was that if you watch any animal use the bathroom, a bump would magically appear under one's left eye. Leila ignored the silly superstitions of her childhood, but still didn't observe her pet relieve himself.

Everything in the wooded area was dead still as she stood watching the shadows all around her. The human eye was very sensitive to motion and could therefore cause the mind to see things in a distorted way, leading to fear of what didn't exist.

This feeling of being watched entered her mind, and Leila wished Aasim was there with her. Apollo whimpered, nudging his master's side. She looked down into his sky-colored eyes and scratched the area between his ears.

"Come on, pup," she told him softly, walking in the direction they came from. Apollo started to follow, until his keen sense of hearing came into play, and he took off in the other direction. The leash ripped away from the girl's hand, and she immediately turned to pursue.

"Apollo, get back here!" she shouted, watching his curled tail bounce as he sprinted deeper into the thicket. It became harder and harder for her to see as she ventured on, but a one thousand dollar pet couldn't just be forgotten out there just because she was a little afraid.

Somehow, Apollo managed to maneuver through the twisted branches currently blocking her path, for he was panting heavily on the other side of them, waiting for her. Determined to catch the puppy, she slipped one foot over the fallen tree, ducked under the thick branch in front of her and attempted to grab the bridle laying in the grass with only one foot free and failed miserably, landing hard on her chin.

Dazed by her fall, Leila pushed herself off the ground slowly, trying to regain her equilibrium.

_I'm gonna kill that dog....._ She continued walking forward until she heard Apollo barking, then broke into a run. Had he found something--or some_one_? She hoped it wasn't the latter. He stopped barking when she approached, snatching up his collar before he could get away again.

"What is it, Apollo?" she asked him, peering into the darkness before her smoky eyes. At first she couldn't see it, but after squinting a little, she saw the white clothing-? on the ground. Leila let go of the reign, moving forward in small steps. As she came upon the garbs, she noticed someone was still in it, but couldn't see the face. Whoever it was wasn't moving at all, which could only mean one thing.

_Apollo has found a dead body. Somebody must have killed him and dumped him in this forest, thinking no one would find his corpse. I wonder how long he's been here_ she thought. The air around him didn't reek of rotting flesh, so he must have been murdered recently, within the hour, even.

Leila was unsure if she should move it first, then call the police, or call them first and let them move it. She tried the first option, moving to the head as she blindly groped the air. Her foot got stuck under the leg and she tumbled over the body, landing on the cadaver face first. Grossed out, she tried to get up immediately, until she felt the chest rise under her body.

Scared out of her mind, the girl got to her feet quickly, watching the white hooded head move for a moment.

_He's still alive. _On instinct, she attempted to lift him up under his armpits and allow his head to rest in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, but his full weight pressed against her without warning, throwing her off balance. Leila's back rested against a trunk, which she used to ready herself for the lengthy trek back to the house. The way she came would bring further injury to the man and she was unaware of any other way out.

"Apollo, do you know another way out?" she requested of the pup as if he could understand. Being the intelligent creature he was, the pup simply headed east and she followed, dragging the bottom half of his body in the dirt.

_I hope he bleaches his whites....._she thought, looking around hopelessly at the taunting trees encircling above her head. Just when she thought the dog was taking them deeper into the seemingly endless woods, the forest suddenly burst into open area, intense heat burning her face in miliseconds. She recognized where they came out--the wildlife reserve down the street from her house. Leila made sure to take note of the route they took to get there, just in case she got lost in the future.

She hoped no one would be driving down the road and see her pulling an unconscious man to her home. The neighbors were unfriendly, but plenty nosy and would poke their noses into business that wasn't theirs in a heartbeat. Thankfully, that day was a holiday, and everyone was out at the mall.

Leila opened the back door to her house, then closed it shut with her foot. The man had yet to awaken despite the fact that he was dragged a few hundred feet through dirt and asphalt.

Using all her strength, Leila set him down on her couch and removed his boots to keep dirt off the cushions, discovering that he had enormous feet.(I'm not implying what people think I am. Size 14 shoe is normal for a 6 ft. tall man.)

She examined one of the shoes closely, noticing the thick sole and leather used to make it. It had no label, nor any tags to show her who manufactured it--in fact, these shoes were so unusual in design, she thought they were one of a kind.

Leila turned her sights to his clothes and acknowledged they were unusual for 2009. She had heard of cosplay at anime conventions, but there weren't any in Jerusalem for another four months. Her fingers held the cloth in her hands--it was soft, well-knitted and intricate in design. It was definitely cotton, but even her most expensive clothes didn't feel like this.

His hands were gloved in the same kind of leather as his boots, but much smoother in texture. What looked like a gauntlet was strapped to his forearm with some odd silver box on the underside. Out of curiosity, she tapped it lightly and a long, thin blade jutted out with a hair-raising _shnk_. She jumped, startled by the odd contraption.

Furthermore, her eyes rested on the deadly array of weaponry about his shoulder and waist, including a very long sword girded at the hip.

_Maybe I should remove this before either of us gets hurt._ She loosened the belts around his arm, and slid the weapon off his hand, then noticed he had no ring finger. Her pointing finger touched the nub of what was left, feeling the unevenly severed ligaments and bone under his skin. Whatever had to be done to remove the digit must have been painful and took weeks to heal.

There were also callouses at the top of his palms and fingertips, indicating he did some kind of strenuous work and had been doing so for quite some time.

Finally, she removed his hood, discovering an extremely handsome face. Even though he was comatose, his face was fixed in a scowl, his dark brows slightly furrowed, bow-shaped lips turned down, and his strong jawline rather tense. He looked to be at the most 23, three years older than herself.

_Wait a minute......._ she thought, grabbing a magazine out of the nearby basket and flipping to one of the marked pages marked as her favorite. It was a photo of Francisco Randez, advertising Kevin Klein's cologne. She compared the two, noting they were somewhat similar in appearance.

_At first glance, it looked liked him......._Sighing, she put the magazine away and resumed evaluating the odd man. There were no visible injuries, but he was dirtying her couch with his muddy clothes.

"No way," she told herself, standing up and leaving the room. Her conscience would not allow it, and she was paranoid that he'd wake up while she was changing him and think she was a kidnapping psycho.

"He'll just have to wake up and undress himself," she muttered, picking up the unfolded laundry in the hallway. Leila concluded that she'd tidy up a little--since he was, in a way, a guest--until he awakened.

The clean clothes needed to be folded, which she did while watching TV, the dishes were piled high, so she threw them in the dishwasher, and the video game controllers were wireless. Simply putting them back in the cabinet of the entertainment center was an easy solution. That took all of thirty minutes' time and in that window, the man managed to disappear from the couch before Leila returned to check on him.

She dropped the blanket she was holding, sighing loudly as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Where could he have gone?" she grumbled, tossing the cover onto the cushions and returning to the dining area. And there he was, poking around noiselessly with the shadow of his hood cast over his face.

".....Um, excuse me," she called out to him. His head snapped in her direction, furious honey-colored eyes burning into hers. That basilisk stare chilled her to the bone.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he demanded in a deep, husky voice that would make anyone speak out of fear.

"Please, come sit down first," she requested softly. Leila turned around and walked away in hopes of him obeying. The tension in his shoulders released slightly as he followed her back to the living room.

He sat back down on the couch while she settled into the armchair some feet away from it. With the kind of weapons this man was carrying, he was no doubt unpredictable and dangerous.

His eyes continued to burn holes in her as they sat in silence. Leila finally had the nerve to look him in the eye once again, noticing the air of haughtiness that surrounded him and how he looked down on her from where he sat.

"I will not ask again," he said in his even tone.

"First of all, my name is Leila. You are in my house, just outside Jerusalem," she informed him in the calmest tone. "Now it's my turn to ask you a question, mister."

"Very well."

"Who are you? And where did you come from?" she asked.

"If I tell you, I'll have to kill you immediately afterward," he replied coldly. His eyes showed no emotion when he spoke--like a robot in human flesh. Leila assumed whatever he did for a living was very confidential and he only told the very basic of facts on a need to know basis.

"You can trust me. I won't tell anyone what you do. It's not like you kill people every day," she said with a chuckle.

"I do." The smile on her face was gone in a flash, as she peeped, "Oh."

_I was right on point with that, even though I was joking........_ A nervous giggle escaped her as she readjusted her position in the chaise.

_I dragged a killer to my home. I should have left him there, let him get eaten by a hyena!_ A muted smile appeared on her face, receiving his attention, unfortunately.

"Did I say something funny to you?"

"No. I was just thinking." He studied her for a moment, looking over her form.

"You must be of nobility." She stifled a laugh.

"'Nobility'? If you mean rich, that I am." Her parents left a huge sum of money in her trust fund, along with her father's empire of oil all in her name. Her brother, Aasim, would have been the receptor of it all. "Back to the matter at hand, I would like to know your name."

"Altair Ibn La'Ahad." Leila seemed most pleased, smiling once again.

"Good, good. Altair," she repeated, letting flow from her tongue like liquid. "I like it. Now......what do you do?"

"I am an assassin." At that, skepticism could be read all over her face.

"You must be joking." Leila had to laugh at him. "You can't be an assassin." He took her derision as an insult.

"What reason do I have to lie?" he shot back, wiping the grin from her face again. She stared hard into his soulless eyes and he did so right back. Not even a _hint_ of a smile tugged at his lips, which meant he was dead serious.

"None at all, I guess," she sighed, staring hard at the ground. "So, _Altair_, where are you from?"

"Masyaf."

"That old ruin on the hill? Impossible," Leila voiced, remembering all the times she explored what used to be the inner courtyard of the castle that loomed high into the clouds. If it were possible that he did live there, she would have more and likely seen him lurking around its remains. But he appeared out of thin air.

"It's not impossible, woman. There is a small village and a castle full of my brothers situated on that hill." The girl came to the conclusion that he was highly delusional and had escaped from the mental institute in the city.

"No one has lived there since the 1400s. People abandoned that place 600 years ago," she told him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he snapped. "_You_ are the one that isn't. Claiming Masyaf has been abandoned and that it's 800 years into the future. Only a madman would speak of such a thing." Leila got to her feet, readying her case to make it clear that she was right and he was wrong.

"Then I guess I'm a madwoman," she admitted, snatching her calendar off the wall. "Because it is May 2009," she claimed, handing him the almanac. He looked it over briefly, then handed it back. He stood up, towering over her and marched to the window, peering out at the world. It was no longer what he knew. For all he cared, it was another planet.

His eyes followed the cars on the road, the odd black tar that covered the dirt and the tall metal buildings that lit up like fireflies. Leila quietly stood next to him, admiring the scene outside her window. Rain streaked across the glass, droplets forming at the bottom of the pane.

The question would have sounded outrageous to anyone else, but she asked it anyway.

"You're not from this time, are you, Altair?" He turned to her, his eyes revealing a little sense of emptiness and loneliness in the golden brown intensity. Her reddish brown eyes searched through his only for a moment, until they were cold once again as he looked away.

"No. It is the year 1189."

"You lived during the Third Crusade?" she questioned, remembering her 11th grade history class.

"Yes." Leila sighed.

"That war was so horrible. So many people died," she lamented, heading to the kitchen. After a few more moments of observing his new surroundings, Altair tailed her and sat down in the stool by the counter, watching her open a cabinet and pull out a box of couscous. At the sight of food, his stomach protested against its emptiness loud enough for the girl to hear.

"I'm guessing that was your stomach. A little dinner should solve that problem," she told him with a smile. Padded footsteps interrupted the silence, and the assassin discovered the most unusual breed of dog he'd seen. He was used to skinny, smooth-coated canines that licked up people's trash in the streets of the cities.

The pup walked right up to him and rested his head on Altair's lap, peering up at him curiously. He petted the top of its head a few times, taking a liking to the creature.

"I see Apollo likes you. Usually he doesn't like strangers," she informed Altair, pouring the rice-like food into the boiling pot of water. She went for the left over quail in the refrigerator and dropped it into a skillet filled with mixed vegetables.

"This is breed of dog I've never seen before," he informed her, noticing his tail curled like a lock of hair.

"He's not native to this region. Apollo is a snow dog--a Malamute." The delicious smells of cooked food filled his nostrils seconds later.

"Before we sit down to eat, do you mind washing up?" she asked him. "It's not that I can smell you or anything," she added quickly, trying to clarify her statement. Even Altair had to chuckle at her honesty.

"I don't mind. But I don't know where to do so." Leila dried her hands and disappeared around the corner, expecting him to follow. "Come with me. I'll show you." Her parents' house consisted of 5 bathrooms for each bedroom, but she chose to let him use the master bathroom at the end of the hall.

Leila grabbed a body and wash towel out of the pantry and led him to the shower. Flipping the switch for the lights, she revealed the black marble floors, silver counter tops and glass paneled shower. She had forgotten how luxurious Aasim's bathroom was.

"This here," she said, drawing his attention to the dial in the shower wall, "Is the handle controlling the water. You pull it out to draw the water and turn left for hot, right for cold. When you're done, leave the towel in the basket by the door." Leila turned to leave, then remembered he had no clothes to change into.

"I almost forgot: you have no extra clothes. I'll be right back!" she exclaimed, running out the door with a burst of energy. Why was she acting like this? So vivacious, so happy? She ran into Aasim's room and opened his cabinet drawers. At the sight of his T-shirts, she lifted one them up and inhaled the lilac detergent used to wash it. She missed her brother so dearly.

A tear fell down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. Leila had to be strong now--she was on her own.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

End of chapter! I think it was beautifully written, better than the original first one. How was Leila? How was Altair? I'd like to know in your reviews, please!!!! I know everyone has schoolwork and AC II to play, but be sure to read this and tell me what you think.

Also: Isn't it weird that 2 streets in my city are Desmond and Miles, and they're right next to each other!!!! O_O


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter two!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

**The quote you see below will be at the beginning of every chapter. Each quote will somehow connect to the chapter in some way. It's up to the reader to figure out the link. These original thoughts belong to me, so no one has permission to use them until I give permission.**

**Sometimes even the most unbelievable things are the truth, whether we accept it or not._-TranquilTempest_**

**Plus: There will be some segments in the following chapters with religious themes and beliefs, so please refrain from attacking the Christian faith or any doctrines expressed within my story. I know everyone has their opinion about faith, but I don't want this to turn into a heated debate over the Internet. Mkay?  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Getting Acquainted**

Leila stood there for a long time, thinking about her brother. She lost him-like her parents-in such a tragic way. He never did any wrong, he never disobeyed their parents, yet he couldn't escape death's clutches. For months, Leila blamed God for creating such a cruel destiny for such a kind soul. She blamed God for her parents' death, as well, wondering why he wanted to make her suffer so much.

After awhile, she realized that it wasn't God that killed her immediate family. It was another human being, simple as that. If he wanted to create humans to enjoy life, why would he map it out for them, rather than letting them choose how their lives went? The belief that God created humans just to see them suffer made absolutely no sense to her at all.

She finally snapped out of it when her mind returned to the immediate issue in her house-the 'assassin'. Leila said she believed he killed people for a living-plus the fact that he was from 1189, but something in the back of her mind made her think otherwise. He couldn't possibly be from the past, could he? From movies and TV, she believed that time travel would exist thousands of years in the future, and on top of that, if the past collided with the future, the fabric of the universe would tear apart and cease life as humans knew it.

_He can't kill people for a living, even if he is from 2009. The cops would have arrested him by now_ she thought, tucking a pair of boxers under her arm. _He'd probably have the death penalty!_ Having a serial killer in her home wasn't exactly the happiest thought at the moment, and being alone with this lethal man didn't stroke her fancy, either. So Leila began to panic, trying to think of ways to get him out, to get the cops here, something, anything to get him away from her and behind bars.

It was clear she was very tired and wasn't thinking clearly; therefore, Leila slowed her thoughts down to zero miles an hour, and began organizing what she did know about Altair.

1) Altair claimed to be from 1189.

Leila's thoughts: he's highly delusional, crazy, and a filthy liar that gets cheap thrills off of making people paranoid. Chances are he's related to Francisco Randez in some way. Better look into that.

2) Altair claims to be an assassin.

Leila's thoughts: that could possibly be true. People kill people every day, sometimes psychos kill more than once. He's a potential threat to her life, though he hasn't shown signs to want to take it. Is there a chance he's a nice murderer? I should call the police, but what if he's telling the truth? What if he's not in their database? What if he is an assassin from 1189? Why would I even believe something as preposterous as that? Only a crazy person would.

Following that brief summary of her newly acquired facts, Leila returned to her brother's bathroom down the hall, where Altair was quietly examining the toilet, pushing down the handle and watching the fresh water swirl.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a chuckle.

"What is this for?" Altair questioned, lifting the heavy lid and dropping it on his fingers, apparently unaware of the object's full weight. He pulled his digits out from underneath it quickly and moved away from the device.

_Okay first sign: he doesn't know what a toilet is. But anyone could act ignorant. But...would he hurt himself to make me believe him?_

"It's used to relieve yourself. Much more useful than a pot or digging a hole and squatting," she said, not being able to contain the laughter. He looked at her, bewildered, and she quieted to a giggle.

_Sign #2: he doesn't laugh at toilet humor. My dad didn't think it was funny, either. Nice try, Altair._

"Anyway, here are your clothes. I hope they fit you. My brother might have been a little bit skinnier, but they shouldn't be _trop etroite_," she told him, handing the articles of clothing to him.

"You speak French?" he asked with slight interest in his tone as he set them on top of the lid of the toilet.

"Yes. I took it for 3 years. Beautiful language." She grabbed a body and wash towel out of the pantry and handed them to him. "I'm sure you know what to do with those. I'll see you downstairs in a few," she replied hurriedly, disappearing out the door and down the hallway to the lower level. Leila wanted to be out of there before he managed to even get one _glove_ off.

When she reached the kitchen, the leftover quail was nearly thoroughly heated and the macaroni was boiling. She picked up the pot, poured off the excess water into the drain and sought to season the pasta with olive oil. After doing so, she spilled the noodles into a glass pan, then pulled out grated cheese from the refrigerator and sprinkled it generously on top. Leila slid the pan inside the oven and turned it on.

As she waited on a stool in silence for the macaroni and cheese-and Altair, her ears focused on the running water flowing through the pipes within the walls of her home. Then she heard footsteps walking down the hallway upstairs, which in turn, started down the stairs. A little unsettled, she began to think,_ Altair is still in the shower, unless he forgot how to work the knobs. _

She had forgotten all about Khalil, who was passed out in the guest room and was apparently awakened by all the noise in the house. He didn't know about Altair being in the house yet, so how would he take the assassin coming down the stairs in his deceased cousin's clothes? Leila had to find a way to explain it to him without sounding crazy, which was impossible.

He sat in the chair next to hers, drowsy and yawning.

"What's goin' on, l'il cousin?" he asked her. He had taken a liking to American hip hop culture a few years back and she was the victim of his slang speech and ridiculous vocabulary ever since.

"Oh, nothing," she answered quickly. He hadn't considered the fact that the shower was running and they were the only two people in the house. Khalil sniffed the air for a second.

"Smells like you're cooking something. What is it?"

"Quail and macaroni and cheese." _Please don't ask to stay for dinner, please don't ask to stay for dinner_ she pleaded quietly, watching his greenish eyes open and close slowly. He made a face of disgust.

"You're eating that whack stuff? Mac n' cheese? Psh." She sighed inside, relieved that there was a possibility he would leave soon.

"You don't want any, Khalil?" she asked.

"Nah, I'm good. I think I'll slide through Mac D's on my way home. Is there someone else in the house? I swear I heard someone in the shower," he told her, turning the direction of the conversation suddenly. Her sense of urgency to get him out returned, and she thought of an excuse quick.

"I forgot to turn off the shower when I got out. I better go turn it off." He shook his head and Leila took her leave to the upstairs. As she ascended the stairs, Altair was stepping out of the bathroom, fully clothed and squeaky clean. He had his old clothes in his hand.

"You're clean. Good," she sighed. "Do you want me to wash those clothes for you?"

"If that is what you wish," he replied, handing them to her. After grabbing them, she spun on her heels and returned downstairs with Altair in tow, trying to think of what to say to Khalil about her new 'friend'.

_I'll just tell him Altair's one of my friends. Wait-Altair wouldn't need to use my shower if he lives in 2009. Darn it. Gotta think of something else._

To her surprise, Khalil was nowhere to be seen. She heard the engine of his car turn over outside in the driveway and then pull away. Leila calmed down drastically, that feverish feeling no longer inflaming her insides.

"The food is almost done, so you can just sit and wait for now," she suggested to him. He remained standing. Leila tossed his laundry into the basket by the garage door and peered into the glass door of the oven. The cheese was already melted onto the macaroni and she knew it was going to taste great. But she wasn't sure Altair would like it, since he claimed to be from another time where world cultures weren't as widely shared as they were in the 21st century.

Grabbing the mitts, she opened up the furnace, heat blazing strong against her face as she grabbed either side of the pan.

"I'm not sure if you like cheese like this," she muttered, watching carefully his reaction to the food. His honey brown eyes focused on the dish before him. He looked neither pleased or disgusted.

"It's nothing I've seen before," he admitted.

_Okay, so he's never seen mac n' cheese before. Everyone's heard of mac n' cheese. _

"Really? Interesting. What _are_ you used to seeing people eat for dinner?" she requested of him.

"Porridge." She hummed, disappointed he hadn't said more. The smell of quail entered the air, so she turned to the stove top and stirred the meat and veggies a few times before turning off the fire.

"Is that all they eat in the Holy Land? The rich and poor?"

"No. But there aren't any dishes as _exotic_ as this."

"Well, this is an American food. You have heard of the United States, haven't you?"

"I said once before that I am from 1189. Evidently, your world is much larger than the one I am accustomed to," he said with a hint of impatience in his voice.

"Right. I'm sorry, I forgot," she lied, reaching for 2 plates from the cabinet above her.

_I can't get this guy to shake this 'I'm from the past' deal! He's too good. I'll have to try something more drastic._

"What is this 'America' you speak of?" he demanded.

"It's a country on the other side of the planet. I don't want to tell you too much about it, just in case the world explodes," she explained, accidentally losing grip of one of the glass plates with a gasp, expecting it to hit the ground. Just in the nick of time, Altair had moved from where he was standing to right behind Leila, the saucer in between his fingertips inches away from the ground.

_I didn't do that purpose, but he caught it just before it hit the ground. He must have great reflexes. Reflexes only an assassin could have. Wait a minute-what am I saying?_

The girl turned around to face him, having to strain her neck to look up at him from her stark 5 feet 3 inches. He handed her the plate and she handed it right back.

"It was for you," she informed him. Altair simply took it from her and set it on the counter. Leila returned to the pan holding the quail and set it on a mat on the counter next to the macaroni.

"It's nothing extravagant or luxurious, but I hope you enjoy it." Leila dropped a scoop of the cheesy course on his plate, followed by a scoop of her quail-veggie-concoction. It was something her mother had made for dinner before, a goulash she adopted as her own.

After she finished serving him, she handed him a fork and right away he began eating at a steady pace, but not to the point he was shoveling it into his mouth. Satisfied, she began making her own plate and sat down next to him. But before settling down to munch on her meal, Leila prayed over it, thanking the Father for his provisions.

When she finished, Altair asked out of the blue, "You have a God?"

"Yes. I make it a point to talk to him every day and thank him for everything he has done for me. Do you?" she threw back before taking in her first mouthful.

_Of course he doesn't_._ He didn't even do that cross-sign thingy before he started._

"No. Nothing is true, everything is permitted," he answered. Leila thought about it for a moment, chewing slowly.

_'Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Hm. That's kind of a passive way to think. _

"You mustn't believe God exists at all to say such a thing. Who could blame you, with all the crap going on in this world? I guess I'd be thinking the same way too if I didn't know what I do. Just taking everything in stride and living every day like it's the last. That'd be a pretty sad existence, in my opinion, groping around in this mental darkness, with no guidance, no self-control..." she drabbled on before realizing she was running her mouth aimlessly.

"What higher knowledge do you claim to have, since you know more than I do?" he asked of her, twisting her words in such a way to patronize her. Leila discerned it as such and dismissed it as an immature way of addressing an opinion.

"I never said I knew more than you do, Altair. I said there are some things I know that give my life direction, otherwise I'd be out in the world, trying to create my 'destiny' or 'fate' or whatever people call it to satisfy my desire to feel accomplished. The things I know go from Adam to Zion and would take all night if I were to start from the beginning," she explained, swallowing another forkful.

"To be saying such a thing you must know the teachings of the apostles. I once overheard a man speaking nonsense."

"Oh?" she said, interested to know what 'nonsense' he spoke of. "What kind of nonsense?"

"He mentioned something about a resurrection, the Messiah, Har-Magedon, and a 'paradise' that is to come in the future."

"Are you sure you were overhearing such things? It sounds like you were sitting down and listening at his side." Leila got up to fetch 2 cups and filled them with water.

"I was sitting on a bench, eavesdropping on a town crier at the moment." She placed the cup next to his plate and sat back down to finish the last corner of her meal.

_Town crier? Does he mean one of those guys that mouths off about important people?_

"Where were you?"

"Damascus."

_Anyone could go to Damascus. Let's see if he could describe 12th century Damascus, then..._

"What was it like, going through the streets of Damascus?" He exhaled loudly, perhaps thinking this _raconter_ was a waste of his precious time, even though he had nowhere to be any time soon.

"Hot, with putrid smells and dirty beggars in the streets." Altair had finished his plate already, nothing left on the plate but melted cheese. Leila was also full and therefore got up to wash the both of their dishes.

_Anyone would think from movies that old cities were smelly and full of dirty people. There has to be something I can do to prove he's lying about being an assassin and from 1189..._she thought as she rinsed the _vaisselles_ clean.

"Sounds horrible. You must not like doing your job of killing people," she admitted.

"That is not true," he retorted. "I don't let personal loathings hinder me from accomplishing my assignments." Leila wiped her hands dry on the towel hanging from the sink and collapsed on the couch in her living room, welcoming its coolness against her face. With a sideways view, she watched Altair sit down in the armchair next to her.

"What do we do now?" she asked aloud, sighing, pondering about what to do next. She had already tested his reflexes-on accident, he talked about walking through the past, he speaks Old World English, and all those weapons he had on his uniform-why would he have such a deadly array of blades if he wasn't telling the truth?

_Those things must be made of plastic. They're not real _she tried to convince herself, going for the belt sitting on top of the other equipment she stripped off of him.

"Y'know, Altair, these are really good replicas of real knives," she told him as she held one in her hand. Leila ignored the fact that it actually was made of metal.

"Those are not fakes. They are real, so I suggest you put that back before you injure yourself, woman," he ordered her. She ignored his warning, getting ready to prove her point.

"They would be real if I bled when I did this!" she exclaimed, taking the dagger and slashing it across the front of her hand. For a moment, she didn't feel the pain as she stood there, satisfied until she the burning sensation course through her hand moments after she inflicted herself with the wound.

Leila looked down, seeing dark red blood fill her palm and the creases in it, and snorted in disbelief.

"Would you look at that?" she murmured before falling backwards onto the carpeted floor with a loud thud. The girl didn't feel her body being lifted from the ground as her vision blurred and she ceased to feel anything at all.  
_

Leila's kinda losing, isn't she? Who would believe a man claiming to be from 1189 and an assassin?

Vocabulary Corner:

Trop Etroite- French for "too tight"

Raconter- French verb meaning "to retell what happened"

Vaisselle- French word for dishes

History Corner:

Everyone loves mac n' cheese, yes? It is in fact a yummy dish from the United States. Thomas Jefferson served it at a party in the White House in 1802 and has been served in households across the country ever since.

Everyone knows about Mac Donald's, so I don't think I need to explain its beginnings and all that good stuff. I stopped eating there quite some time ago, one of the reasons being because I saw SuperSize Me. An eye-opening movie about fast food. Highly recommended.

About that little repartee between Altair and Leila, I'm sure everyone knows a little bit about the Christian faith either through learning it in a college course or through family tradition. But I feel I should explain some things.

The 'teachings of the apostles' Altair speaks of refer to the 11 followers hand picked by Jesus Christ himself to preach to the world about the end of the current system of human government. John wrote the book of Revelation in the Bible, which speaks of Armageddon, God's final war against human rulers, and the paradise to ensue right after it, where humans will live forever. You can find this info just about anywhere if you're really looking for it.

This chapter came to me today right when I got home from school for the rest of 2009. I guess I was so juiced about not having to go to school for the next 2 weeks that the ideas in this chapter just came to me in one wave. I've been writing for 6 hours straight and came up with what I think is a good continuation of chapter 1. I feel I did a good job on this passage and I'd like to know how everyone thinks I did on it, too. This chapter didn't come on time, which was Tuesday of last week due to school and homework-tons of it. More and likely, chapter 3 will be up before next Wednesday. I'll try to keep up with my updates as much as I can. Much appreciated if people leave some feedback and until next time this is all I have to say.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter two!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

**Sometimes what we need is right in front of us._-TranquilTempest_**

**Plus: As I said before, in chapter 2, there will be some segments in the following chapters with religious themes and beliefs, so please refrain from attacking the Christian faith or any doctrines expressed within my story. I know everyone has their opinion about faith, but I don't want this to turn into a heated debate over the Internet. Mkay?  


* * *

**

**Chapter Three: Take His Word For It**

When Leila awakened, she was on the long couch in the living room. The sun was long gone outside the window, and Apollo was dead asleep near the garage door. When lifting her hand, the girl realized it was heavier--much heavier--than before and discovered white bandages wrapped a few hundred times around her palm. She could feel her hand throbbing from the moderate pressure from the cloth being wrapped a little too tight. So Leila sought to unwrap it and re-wrap it herself.

"I've never seen someone faint after such a minor wound," the assassin told her as she sat up, startling her tremendously. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest as she looked upon the man sitting in the armchair. She had forgotten he was in her brother's clothes.

_He looks like any other guy from Syria. Well, not any ordinary guy. Altair is actually quite handsome_ she concluded before looking away to loosen the ace bandage.

"I faint at the sight of blood. I don't know why--I just do," she replied. "You must be used to dealing with blood since you kill people more often than I do."

"Most women I've seen do not deal with death very well. I guess you are no exception," he said. The man had just blatantly marginalized her, which Leila didn't take too well, but since her house guest claimed to be an assassin, she refrained from throwing an insult back.

"I deal with death very well. I would have been dead by now if I didn't," she retorted quietly, applying the exact amount of pressure on her cut.

All he needed to know was that she wasn't as weak-willed as he thought she was. If he wanted to pry, he'd ask questions, but to her it didn't seem he was one for drawn out conversations.

"Have you learned your lesson now that you have the physical proof of it?" he asked. Fingering the loose fibers of the cloth, she responded, "Yes. But anyone could have real knives with them every day."

"Maybe in _your_ day. The blades I carry are distinctive and if they are ever left inside the body--which never happens--anyone would know it came from an Assassin." Suddenly interested, Leila crawled closer to him despite the fact that he tensed up immensely, his shoulders hunched and eyes deadly serious.

"Relax," she said with a reassuring smile. "I'm just gonna ask you a question." Despite her words, he remained tense.

"Since you were an Assassin--"

"_Are_," he corrected firmly. Sighing mentally, she restated, "_Are_ an Assassin, don't you need to be in the healthiest physical state?" Confused by her question, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

"Speak sense." She pointed to his severed ring finger.

"When an Assassin is accepted into the Order, he is to have his finger removed so that he can put to full use his hidden blade," he explained.

"Oh," she whispered, sitting forward. "It must have been painful for you for many days."

"I do not recall how long the pain lingered. It's in the past now." Silence drifted between them for a moment before Leila let a long yawn escape her body.

"My, even after all this time I've been sleeping--well, not conscious--I'm still tired." She swiveled her head in his direction. "I guess you'd like to know where you're going to sleep. Follow me," she instructed him, rousing herself from the couch. He stood as well, towering over her head. Leila sighed quietly.

_I'm so short._ As she exited the living room, the girl turned off the lights in the kitchen and led him upstairs. Her bedroom was off limits for him(for obvious reasons, of course.)

Since he was much bigger than her father, Leila decided he'd use her brother's bedroom. Aasim was always freakishly tall for his age, considering his father was only 5'8. It must have been a generational thing, for her grandfather on her mother's side was 6'7! The memories of his lanky legs draped over the couch always made her think of daddy long legs on the ceilings.

"Here is the room that you will be using," she told him, opening the door to her brother's chamber. His bed was king sized, more than enough stretching space for Altair. The assassin's bed in Masyaf was half its size, but he wasn't going to voice any complaints.

"I thank you," he said without any emotion.

"It's nothing," she said back before leaving him to get situated and eventually fall asleep. Apollo was waiting in her room down the hall on his doggy pallet, eyes half open as he looked up at her.

"Go to sleep," she instructed him playfully as she peeled the covers back on her bed. He huffed in response as if to say, "Whatever." Giggling softly, she climbed into bed and turned off her lamp.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"She's finally asleep. I thought she was like any other dumb kid, partying into the night and sleeping the day away," one man said.

"That's bad for us. She can be smart enough to find out someone's watching her. We have to be extremely careful with this job, Kyle. The other rich dummies we robbed hadn't a clue until their fancy paintings and heirlooms were missing. And that guy with her, where did he come from?" the other asked.

"I don't know. It's like he appeared outta nowhere. He won't be a problem if we get her first. Don't worry, man. We've pulled off hundreds of other scams; we can do this."

The other man fell silent, agreeing with his partner in crime in his head. But he couldn't fight that extreme sense of ill fortune in the back of his mind. Something about that man made his skin crawl.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning descended upon Jerusalem like a warm blanket on Leila's face, rousing her from her pleasant slumber. She blinked a few times, sitting up and yawning. Her spine popped back into place as she stretched, exercising her muscles briefly. Apollo pushed open her bedroom door with his nose, panting heavily as he neared her bedside.

Seeing him every day brought a smile to her face. He was a gift from her parents for always trying her best in school, and she appreciated having the pup, even though all the responsibility of taking care of him was on her.

"Let me guess, your food bowl is empty. You little pig," she muttered, throwing herself out of the bed. It was only eight o'clock in the morning and it was already unpleasantly stifling in her house. Leila peeked her head out of her doorway, noting the assassin was more and likely still asleep since the door was still closed. This gave her a little time to be alone and plan out her next test for him.

'I must have been crazy to cut myself with that knife. It was obviously made out of metal. But anyone could carry real weapons around; most people do! There must be some other way to prove he's the crazy one.....' she thought. The lower level of her home was slightly cooler than her bedroom, making it easier for her to get things done.

Leila poured out enough Kibbles N' Bits for the whole day into his dish,"This is for the whole day, so no begging at dinnertime, okay?" Apollo started to wolf down the brown mess, chewing loud enough for her to hear. As she put away the bag, Altair came down the stairs as silent as the wind and stood behind her.

Leila straightened up only to bump into him and jumped back, ready to fight, then calmed down when she realized it was him.

"Do you enjoy scaring people?" she sighed, going into the refrigerator for the eggs, bacon, and Bisquick mix.

"It's one of my favorite things to do," he informed her with dripping sarcasm. Rolling her eyes,"Do you eat pork?"

"That is a custom held by Muslims."

"You're obviously not Muslim, so I'll take that as a yes. How did you sleep in the bed?"

"It was...comfortable." As the food cooked on the stove, the girl sat on the stool opposite of Altair's, watching him quietly. He merely stared back, never blinking. She suddenly made a face and he blinked in confusion. Tilting her head back, Leila let a raucous laugh escape from her.

"That always gets people. You lose!" she teased, pointing a finger at him. Insulted,"How was I supposed to know this was a game? You didn't even tell me the rules," he growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Altair. It's not that serious," she said through a suppressed giggle. "There's nothing wrong with losing a stare down." He scowled at her for a moment and she ceased to find her silly ways amusing.

'Okay, I think I just wet myself. No one usually gets that angry about losing a silly staring contest. He gave me the death look!'

"Okay, how about we do something else while the food cooks?" She hopped out of her chair and went into the garage. "I gotta grab something first," she told him, retrieving a black and red pinwheel and hanging it on the wall.

"What is that?" he asked. Holding up five arrow-shaped objects,"It's a dartboard," she told him, placing them in his hand. He looked down at them, then back up at her.

"What's wrong? Afraid you'll miss the bull's eye?" she taunted. He straightened up, taking one into his right hand.

"I never miss." With a single snap of his wrist, the dart sped through the air and hit the smallest red circle dead in the middle. Her jaw hanging wide open at first, Leila recollected herself,"That was just a coincidence. Try again." He did so, the second dart landing right next to the first. The assassin threw another, and another, and the last one split the first in two.

"I can't believe this," she said, taken aback.

'No one has ever gotten a perfect shot every time. He may be able to throw some darts, but that doesn't prove he's from the past.' Altair gave her that self confident stare, feeling quite satisfied with himself.

"Okay, you can throw a few darts really well. How about we go for a ride after breakfast?" she suggested, taking the fried pieces of meat out of the skillet, then scooped out the eggs. All that was left were the pancakes, which were being poured into the frying pan.

"Riding? As in horses?" he asked.

"No. We're going out for a drive."

-

-

Maybe a little over an hour, Leila went from being a smug little woman to a petrified passenger in her new BMW.

'Please don't crash my car, please don't crash my car!' she repeated over and over again in her head. Of course her eyes were closed--they weren't on the road to begin with, but she could hear the honking horns from the road that they had left long ago.

"Just take us back to the house before the cops come!" she ordered. Amazingly, the car jumped, suspended high above the road, and Leila could feel the weightlessness beneath her.

'Oh my goodness, are we in the air?' She opened her eyes just a little, noting that nothing was visible but the sky. With a quick shutting of her eyelids,'We're going to die.' The car finally landed, hitting the gravel road with the front bumper and then skidded to a stop right in front of her house.

Altair turned the engine over, and the vehicle went silent. Now that it was safe to breathe, she let a long exhale escape her lips. Leila gave him a bewildered glare before snatching the keys from the ignition.

"You are _not_ driving my car again," she promised him, stepping out of the car onto shaky legs. The assassin got out as well, annoyed with the young woman.

"You brought this upon yourself, girl. If you weren't _insane_ this wouldn't have happened," he growled, following her into the house. Leila knew it was true, but she was so intent on destroying his ruse she was willing to try anything.

"I am _not_ insane. And I have a name, _boy_," she spat back. Simultaneously, they threw dirty looks at one another.

"I'll have you know that I am twenty-three years of age and fully capable of displaying it. Whereas you do not act like a young woman." She gasped, disgusted at how he had the audacity to insult her maturity level. With nothing more to say, she disappeared upstairs to her room to clear her head of the tempestuous steam fuming from her ears.

'How dare he offend me like that! I could have left his crazy behind in the forest for the little critters to nip at! If it weren't for me, he would have woken up crying for his mommy!' she thought angrily, pacing around her room. Leila thought her brother was unbearably annoying with his jokes and pranks, but Altair took it to a new level. He was abrasive, cocky, arrogant, and sexist, the worst kind of man she'd met so far in her life.

At first, Leila thought she was returning downstairs to curse him out, but when she beheld his face once again, she couldn't think of anything to say.

"Do you have anymore _tests_ for me to do, or have you finally given up in this silly little campaign of yours?" he asked.

"For the time being, no. You mentioned horseback riding, so I guess we can go to the family ranch over the hill," she mumbled. She was trying to make the best of this situation before it got worse. He studied her for a moment.

"Is that your way of apologizing?" She turned to him quickly.

"You're expecting an apology? If anyone feels insulted, it should be me, so if I were you I'd take the offer and go, buddy." Altair frowned a little at the title, but decided he'd go with her to the ranch. It had been awhile since he last rode Ahmar, his black stallion probably waiting for him in the stables at Masyaf. He wondered if there were any descendants of his steed in the area. He'd know upon sight.

They left the house once again, this time walking up the road instead of driving. The humid weather was perfect to trudge in. Without the protection of his hood, Altair for once felt the heat of Syria blazing down on his back and neck. He looked over at Leila, who seemed unfazed by the heat.

The assassin was still irritated that she decided to wear pants that revealed so much of her legs and her shirt was much too tight compared to what he was accustomed to. And what made it worse was the fact that she removed the shirt to walk in a sleeveless top that showed the outline of her bosom all too well, and she was sweating, making her clothing even more viscous. The fact that Altair was paying attention to all of this made him angry with himself for allowing his eyes to control his thinking at the moment.

"We're almost there, Altair. You see that house right there?" she pointed out a low brick building sitting on the horizon. "That's my aunt's home and the stables are right behind it." Within a few minutes, she was knocking on the barn-style door. He felt a pair of feet hitting the ground as her aunt came to the door to open it.

There stood a woman who was as tall as he, something he didn't expect.

"Leila, it's been so long!" she exclaimed, picking the girl up like a four year old and squeezing her tight. "You were always so little!"

Slightly annoyed, "Yeah, yeah, Aunt May. It was an anomaly in the gene pool. Anyway, this is my friend, Altair." The woman's intense green eyes studied him for a moment before extending her large hand for him to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Altair." She turned to Leila with a sly grin on her lips. "Are you sure he's just your friend? If he is, let me have him! He's adorable!" The girl had a burst of laughter while the muted shock masked his face. He wasn't used to women being so open with their conversations about the male gender.

"I'm not sure he wants to judging by that look on his face. Do you mind if we take some horses for a ride?" she asked, stepping inside the spacious living room. Altair followed not too close behind, evaluating his surroundings.

The furniture was made of black leather and wood, complimenting the wine-red walls and beige ceiling. Chandeliers were a familiar sight to him, burning bright high above them. The rugs looked to be made of real fur, and the expensive paintings hanged on every wall for all to see. It all reminded him of the wealthy and powerful of Damascus.

"Sure. Yasminah has been dying to see you again. That horse acts more like a person than an animal," her aunt commented. With a chuckle, Leila walked her own path to the ranch through the kitchen door. The assassin didn't know whether to follow the girl or her relative, looking from left to right until he finally decided to follow the person he arrived with.

The stables were much more reliable in design than the ones in Masyaf. It looked more like a long, hollow rectangle with doors stationed to keep the horses from roaming free every eight feet. There were all kinds of horses peering out at the three, some were Abyssinian, some Arabian and some that were of European origin. Altair knew to go with Arabian, the fastest breed when it came to journeying to cities days away from each other.

"Pick your flavor," Leila joked to him, going straight for a red skinned mare that seemed to remember her. The horse was swinging its hair from left to right, braying loudly until she opened the gate.

"I missed you too, girl," she whispered into Yasminah's muzzle. Her aunt was holding a saddle in her hand,"So you won't chafe." In defiance, Leila hopped on the back of her mare,"No thanks," and took off into the heated afternoon.

Altair, who clearly recalled her Aunt May's comment about him, acted as if she weren't there and stopped in front of a muscular black Arabian.

"I'm pretty sure you want to use a saddle, then. Someone has to be sane around here. I don't know how you put up with her." He took the saddle from her and entered the stable of a steed he was eyeing from a distance.

"I have no choice." Altair slung the piece of leather onto the horse's back, buckled it underneath and got on in all of 30 seconds. Whistling,"You've got some skill, Altair. Do you ride often?"

"All the time. Hyah!" he yelled, bracing himself for the instant burst of speed. The world around him was nothing but a blur as they galloped on, the sound of hooves pounding the grass. The assassin had only been away from his own time for a day, but the thrill of riding at this speed took his mind to a level of calm, as ornery as it may sound.

He looked to left, noticing Leila was riding much slower than he thought, or had she stopped? Soon after he whizzed by her, he heard galloping behind him and it was only getting louder.

Their eyes finally met for a moment until Leila faced forward once again, ducking her head low against the resisting wind. She was trying to race, a terrible mistake on her end. Grinning, the assassin snapped his reigns, making the steed run even faster than he already was. He was panting heavily, but Altair was experienced enough with horses to know his limit; it was just that no one rode the beast in a long time.

Sure enough, he caught up to her seconds later. Out of his peripherals, he saw her gritting her teeth, aware that she was losing and slowly but surely slowing down. With an acclaimed victory, he pushed the steed a little more just to make his win that much better.

Leila finally pulled out, Yasminah's gallops becoming less and less frequent until she came to a trot and eventually stopped. Satisfied, he allowed the steed to rest.

'Okay, he's _really_ good with horses. But an assassin from 2009 can be knowledgeable of the equestrian species. I need to try something else....'

Moments later, Leila came over with Yasminah close behind like a loyal dog. Extending her hand,"I guess you win, Altair." He looked at her hand a moment, then shook it briefly. In that moment of contact, she realized how little her hand was when his covered it almost completely. She felt an unfamiliar knot in her stomach, but it faded away too quickly for her to think it was a hint of attraction to him.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sorry the end is kind of abrupt. I thought I should cut it off before I introduced a new idea. Not so wonderful chapter, yes?

I was hoping I could have gotten this chapter out last week and number 4 this week but a lot of stuff has been getting in my way, such as finals preparation and stuff. Chapter 5 of Nereza's Serenade is almost done and so is From My Time to Yours. I'm a little empty-headed when it comes to Hidden Blade, so bear with me please! =)

Also: I'm adding a small mini-series of appendices to get the reader's mind off the more serious things of my stories. Enjoy them when they come out!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter four!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

**Curiosity is okay to have when our discoveries benefit us._-TranquilTempest_**

* * *

**Chapter Four: Let's Have a Ball!**

After their little race, Leila decided they should return to her Aunt May for a glass of cold lemonade. Instead of tiring out the horses further, Altair and Leila decided to walk, their feet crushing the grass beneath them. The winds coming from the surrounding mountains cooled her cheeks as they trudged in silence side by side. Neither had anything to talk about and the assassin didn't look to be one that liked to talk long, anyway.

Aunt May was already at the door of the stables, leaning against the frame.

"I was wondering when you guys would come back. How was it?" she asked Leila.

"It was no fun for me, but it was for Altair," she replied, pointing her thumb behind her. "He won our little race." Altair said nothing to claim his victory, but that was only so because he didn't need to. The pride in his steps was clear as day until he put the black stallion back in his place. The steed obviously didn't want to part company with the assassin, for he buried his muzzle in Altair's chest as if asking to be ridden again. Leila noticed the bond that was already forming between them.

"Normally, NoName doesn't like complete strangers, but I guess since the both of you have such dark personalities it would make sense that identical souls would be attracted to one another."

"'NoName'?" he asked.

"I only call him that because we haven't named him yet. But you're welcome to," Aunt May chimed in. The assassin nodded his head once, then sought to give him a name. The perfect one instantly came to mind.

"I will name him Kadar," he announced.

"That's fitting for him. Nice choice," Leila complemented. Turning to her aunt,"Can we go inside for some lemonade? It's hot out here."

"Sure thing. And you came at the right time. I just made a fresh pitcher," she told the younger two, leading them inside. The air conditioning was on full blast, causing goose bumps to rise on Leila's arms. Altair looked over at her, noticing the texture of her skin change and noticed something else had changed too. He quickly looked away before any dark thoughts came to mind.

Thankfully for him, she put the T-shirt she had around her waist back on and the effects of the cold air faded away, allowing him to focus on more important things easier.

He looked on as Aunt May went for three glasses, then pulled out a pitcher of misty yellow liquid with lemons inside. He'd never drunk anything sweetened with sugar in his life. The only thing he drunk that was not water was some wine-and that was only once. He decided he'd give it a try and took a sip. His jaw tingled so much it hurt, but only for a moment. He liked the feeling-and the flavor. Altair took it to the head and gulped it down in one sitting.

"Wow. You must love lemonade," Aunt May whistled. "You want another glass?" He thought for a moment then replied,"Yes." She filled it almost to the brim and he chucked it down in the same fashion. Leila was absolutely impressed.

"Another glass that full and you'll be running off to the bathroom," she warned him.

"I've never tasted anything like it. Water is all I've been drinking for a long time."

"Then you've missed out on a lot of good drinks. Beer, wine, Kool-Aid, iced tea," Aunt May rattled off. "Why don't you drink anything but water? You on a sugar diet?"Instantly, Leila knew the conversation was going to turn weird when he answered and cut him off before he said anything.

"Yes, he is. He's trying to keep those muscles he worked so hard to get," she lied, trying to usher Altair towards the door. It was obvious he wasn't quite ready to leave by the way he was pressing his weight in the direction opposite of the door.

"Wait-where are you guys going?"

"Oh, I promised Altair we were going to meet up with some friends for soccer. Thanks for letting us ride the horses and for the lemonade. See you later!" she smushed altogether before slamming the door behind her.

They were back out in the heat, heading towards her home on foot.

"What was the meaning of that?" he demanded.

Sighing,"You were about to give away the fact that you're not from this time. She can't find out-at least not yet. And I really did promise my friends we'd play soccer today. I'm pretty sure in your time, the only sport around was killing someone, right?" she joked.

"I did not kill for sport. Men sick in the head did and they were the ones I targeted," he informed her. Leila opened her car door and allowed him to climb into the passenger seat.

"What is this 'soccer'?" he asked as they pulled off from the curb and onto the street.

"It's a professional game with two teams pitted against each other to kick a ball into a net. You can't use your hands but you can use everything else. Simple and easy." She pulled into the parking lot of the soccer field and turned off the roaring engine. Altair looked out the window a moment before stepping out entirely.

The area was open-air with one goal on either side and a circle in the middle. Her friends were already there, passing the ball around and talking loudly. From what the assassin could see, it was a bunch of males and maybe only one other female.

As they approached,"Hey, Leila! Took you long enough! Who's this guy?" her friend named Boris asked.

"This is Altair. He just moved from Spain," she lied, recalling Francisco Randez was from Spain. They gathered around, sizing him up.

"What is he, a Spanish model or something? This guy looks like he'd be posing for Abercrombie and Fitch!" Mikhail teased. Since Altair was completely unaware of clothing lines and modeling, he didn't get the joke.

"No, he's just an ordinary guy, people. Don't be angry just because he has better looks than you," Leila mumbled, then quickly took the ball from the only other girl and kicked it between her feet.

"Come on guys! Or are we just going to sit around all day?" They looked at one another, hunched their shoulders, then broke off into two teams onto the field.

Altair, who had no clue what to do, stayed behind and the girl noticed.

"Aren't you going to play?" she asked softly. Her dark blue eyes searched his face for an answer.

"I don't...'play'," he told her, watching Leila bounce the ball back and forth between knees. It seemed easy enough to learn, but he didn't want to look foolish.

"Oh, come on. Everyone else is on the field." When he didn't say anything else, she grabbed him by his arm and pulled him to the circle. Leila was surprised he didn't flip her over onto her back and make a threat against her life. He allowed himself to be dragged around.

"You got him to play, Hannah?" Leila asked. Her eyes lingered on the fact that the girl's arm was still around his long after Altair was convinced.

"Yeah. It didn't take much." She threw a smile her way and then focused on the ball. Boris tossed the coin and Mikhail called heads while Jorge called tails. The coin landed on tails and the ball was in play.

One moment, it was in order and the next it was chaos, bodies pushing and shoving against one another to manipulate the ball one way or the other. Altair didn't understand why there was so much roughhousing and especially didn't appreciate it when Boris stepped on his foot. Now a little angry, he forced his way out of the huddle, kicking the ball towards the south goal.

"Whose team is he on?" Leila asked.

"Ours!" Hannah yelled, trailing behind the assassin to defend him. Leila chased after her, eager to knock the girl down and block Altair's goal. Mikhail was standing at the net, arms open and ready, but not ready enough to catch the ball that propelled through the air at a dangerous speed and _through_ the net.

The other team cheered, slapping fives. Hannah gave Altair one, and he looked down at his hand. She giggled, mildly flirting with him.

"You're not supposed to look at your hand, silly." Leila looked on from a distance, noticing Hannah was around Altair just a little too much already. But why did she care? He was a grown man and capable of handling situations himself.

"Mikhail, why didn't you catch it?" she asked him.

"Leila, did you _see_ how fast it was going? If I had, my hands would be completely gone right now. What is he, bionic?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"He's definitely not bionic. Just really strong...and on the wrong team," she mumbled. She didn't know why she hadn't put Altair on her team. It hadn't occurred to her that he just might have been much better than everyone else at sports even though he had never played them before.

"We don't need him to win," Mikhail spat, perhaps out of jealousy.

"I only wish I could believe that, Mike," she told him before joining the rest of her team in the circle. With her there, the opposite team could kick off, sending it towards her goal. With more determination than before, she chased after the ball in control of Hannah's legs.

She finally managed to catch up and tripped the girl before kicking the ball towards the outfield and then towards their goal. Altair was running right along side her, eyes focused on the black and white ball rolling in the grass.

'Oh no he doesn't,' she thought, passing it to Jacob who was near the goal. When he gained full control of the ball, he kicked it in right over their goalie's head.

"Whoo!" Leila shouted, turning around to see Altair's reaction. He was not paying attention to her, but to her female counterpart on the ground. He helped her up to her feet, her hands in his. Leila could see the blush on her cheeks from a mile away and she rolled her eyes.

'It's a good thing Altair's so cold-blooded, otherwise he'd be slobbing all over Hannah right now,' she told herself. Why did she worry about what they did, anyway? Was she jealous? She quickly shook the thought away, trying her best to focus on how to keep the ball in her team's play. And oh how difficult that would be for the rest of the game.

There was no doubt about it that Boris' team won hands down. He had the advantage of a highly-skilled assassin on his team and the most he assumed about the guy was that he was a model. Every goal made by his team was done by none other than Altair, who was quite smug with yet another victory under his belt. This was no ordinary game-it was another competition between himself and Leila. So far, he had two points and she none, a fact she didn't entertain in her head.

Hannah, of course, was fawning all over him afterward, occasionally touching his arm and laughing. Altair didn't seem to care too much about her, but Leila still found that she was unnerved by the girl's persistance. The man obviously wasn't interested, so why go on and on?

"That was a good game you played, Altair. Maybe you should join the regional team. You may even end up in the FIFA," Boris suggested.

"FIFA?" the assassin asked. Everyone's eyes widened at his question.

"You don't know what FIFA is, and you LIVED in Spain, the country with THE best football team in the world? Have you been living in a hole your whole life?" Mikhail asked, shaking Altair by the shoulders. He slapped his hands away.

"So what if I haven't?" he snapped back."I'm really not interested in football." Leila thought that he was going to say something that denoted he was from the past, but relaxed when he replied the way he did.

"But you're so good at it!" Hannah complimented.

"We know that already, Hannah," Leila sighed. The game had sapped all of the remaining energy she had left and she was in the mood to pig out and fall asleep on the couch. "I'm very tired you guys, so I'll catch you later. Come on, Altair." He started to follow her until Boris called out,"He can drive himself home. We're gonna go downtown and walk around. Wanna come with us, Altair?"

"He can't," Leila answered for him.

"Who are you, his mother?" Hannah joked, accidentally striking one of Leila's nerves.

"And if I was, I look darn good for my age. He lives with me and hasn't received his Palestinian license yet, so no, he can't go. Good night," she said with a strained smile before turning her back on them.

Hannah grabbed hold of Altair before he got too far away and whispered,"What's wrong with her?"

"I've only lived with her a day, but I already know she's ill-tempered," he replied, heading to the car and getting inside. As they pulled away, the girl's eyes followed the vehicle until they were gone.

They arrived at home and the first thing Leila did was drop her things and run upstairs to her shower. She hated, hated, hated staying dirty for too long.

Her mother had said she would be a spermophobe when she got older, but her father mistook the diagnosis for her being afraid of men. They had a whole argument based on a misunderstanding, only to be laughing at the other for dealing in such nonsense.

The hot water ran down her tense shoulders, relaxing the aching muscles all throughout her body from all the running and kicking and falling. The burns on her elbows and knees started to tingle with pain, but it felt good to her. As a child, she loved taking baths after playing outside all day just to feel her scratches burn in the water from all the dying germs.

She started to wonder if Altair had ever had a hot bath in 1189. Would it have been difficult to find such a place that provided what was considered a luxury back then? He had to have, otherwise he wouldn't have looked as clean as he did when she found him. Wait a minute-why was Leila thinking of him and his bathing habits while she was in the shower? She shook away the thought and turned off the water.

Altair had taken the liberty to shower as well and was coming out at the same time she was-fully clothed, thankfully. He was really into dark blues and grays.

"I'll be downstairs in a minute to start dinner," she told him before closing her bedroom door to slip into her pajamas.

She emerged downstairs, but her resolve to cook had changed already. The assassin looked up at her from the couch.

"How about I just order a few pizzas? I don't really care for standing on my feet while you get to sit back and relax." Leila grabbed the Yellow Pages equivalent and flipped to the pizza section. Bertolini's Authentic Italian Food was her favorite place to go and so she called them and placed the order for three large pepperonis.

"Now all we do is wait for the food to come to us," she exhaled, plopping down on the couch. Her perfumed hair emitted a wave of lemongrass Altair's way, yet he ignored it completely as he looked on at the TV show being displayed.

"How is it that there are talking people in a frame, but they aren't actually in this house?" he asked.

"It's a long explanation I don't remember, but it's wonderful for entertainment." Silence drifted between them for a moment. "What did you do to entertain yourself?"

"Nothing. I was always busy in learning the ways of an assassin. There was no room for 'entertainment'."

"Not even for a girlfriend?" Leila asked in disbelief before turning to look at him at the same time he did, then looked away, feeling stupid for asking that question.

"Yes, even that."

"Oh." An even more awkward silence filled the air until the doorbell rang and she got up as fast as humanly possible.

'Thank goodness that delivery boy is fast!' she thought, opening the door to a pimply teenager with three square boxes in his hand.

"That'll be 23 pounds," he told her in a scratchy voice. She winced in her head at the nail-on-the-chalkboard shriek in his voice as she pulled out a solid 20 pound bill and a 5. He gave her the change and the pizzas and was gone.

Leila placed the boxes on the counter, then grabbed two plates. The assassin took that as his cue and allowed her to fill his plate with three long triangular slices of bread with red sauce and flat pieces of meat on it. Altair had never seen an odd combination of food such as this, but he didn't complain when he actually tasted its hearty flavor. He ate all three silently in the stool and found that it was more filling than he thought.

"The best thing to drink down with this is root beer," Leila said, going into the fridge for a plastic bottle of brown liquid. She handed him a cup, then poured some into it, allowing the fizz to crackle and hiss. He seemed skeptical about actually drinking it.

"Is it supposed to do that?" he asked with caution.

"Yup. The soda has carbon dioxide in it and when mixed with the pressure inside the container you get that bubbly stuff. Don't worry; it's not dangerous," she assured him, taking a sip of her own fill. If Leila could drink it without any problems, he could do it, too. He gulped down a little, tasted the sweet syrup, liked it, then drank some more. He found it quite tasty, like the lemonade he had at Aunt May's house.

"So is it hazardous to your system?" Leila teased.

"No." They finished up their slices and then settled back down on the couch, watching a 50s American film.

"What do you feel like doing tomorrow other than killing someone?" she asked him.

"My mind isn't always set on killing someone. I am not a sociopath. And I don't know what things there are to do that I deem worthy of my time in your year."

"True. Since you are an assassin, let's test those skills tomorrow morning in a little sparring session."  
_

End of long-awaited chapter! I'm so sorry guys! So much has been going on! I hope this chappie isn't a letdown to my readers! The next few chapters will get much better; I promise. For now it's a little slow because the most important events haven't happened yet and they will be big. I know what they'll be and I'm still excited over it! Until next time! :) And be sure to leave some feedback and don't hesitate to criticize me! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter four!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

**  


* * *

**

**Chapter Five: Fight to the Near-Death  
**

Leila couldn't wait for noon to roll around. That day would be the day Altair's character would truly be tested. She was the best at sparring and no one denied it. Not even Mikhail, who had been the Junior Wrestler's League since he was ten.

Their breakfast consisted of high-carb foods--bread, yogurt and eggs--which Altair swallowed whole and Leila watched in amazement (for the fourth time since they'd met).

"Now that we have finished breakfast, we are going to the sparring ring." Altair seemed annoyed already.

"This silly attempt to prove me wrong will only result in your feelings getting hurt as well as your physical being," he warned, following her to the car. She ignored him completely.

"Boast all you want, Altair, but you won't win. Mikhail has trained with the wrestler's league and he has never won against me. It will be the same today." The assassin felt it best to ignore her words as well, and silently, but eagerly awaited the time for him to teach her a lesson assassin style.

-

-

Unfortunate for the both of them, the sparring rings were full at the time they arrived, so Leila had to find another activity to fill that time slot until the other competitors were done.

"What are we to do now that your plan has fallen on its face?" Altair meant to insult her.

Annoyed,"I don't know. How's about we go find my friends. They're bound to be around here somewhere," she grumbled, searching the crowds outside for any familiar faces. She noticed Hannah's mannish laugh amongst the conversations and followed it straight to Mikhail and the others who had ice cream in their hands. The assassin looked upon the confection with interest.

"How did you find us?" Boris asked in surprise. Leila glanced in Hannah's direction, noticing her eyes were on a certain assassin.

"Hannah's man-laugh." They all burst into laughter with the exception of the only other girl, who was turning red with embarrassment. Altair did not find it funny, so he remained silent.

"That was a good one, Leila. What were you guys going to get into today?" Jacob asked.

"We were at the sparring rings over there, but it's full until noon, so we have about an hour until we can go inside. I figured you guys would be around here somewhere and I was right: you guys are mall rats," Leila joked. They all groaned in unison.

"Oh, whatever Leila. We just like to be out and about," Hannah snapped back like a viper. The guys oohed and looked on as Leila formulated a comeback.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch just because I struck a nerve, Hannah Mannah," she teased, trying to play off the dangerously rising tension in the air.

"Stop with the name calling, Leila," she warned. Leila was bewildered.

"I always call you Hannah Mannah. You seemed to like it all the times before," she reasoned.

"Well, stop calling me that, okay? I'm 20, not 5," she grumbled, pushing past the group to discard her waffle cone in the trash.

'I honestly don't get what's going on right now,' Leila thought, arms folded. Even Altair felt something was wrong, but the situation didn't involve him, so he didn't concern himself with it.

"Okay girls," Mikhail butted in,"This is getting too serious too fast. Hannah, chill out. Leila, stop calling her that name. Now let's go swimming. The pool is pretty much empty."

"We may as well go back to my house and swim, then. At least it's not infested with pee," Leila pointed out.

"That's a good point," Boris added. "To Leila's house!" The group walked towards their cars, got inside and followed her to her mini-mansion.

"I haven't been here in so long," Mikhail breathed, looking up at the house in awe. "The last time my dad and I came was when......" He looked to Leila, whose good mood had dropped. He wasn't the only one to notice how drastically it changed.

"Let's have some fun," he changed the subject quickly, putting his arm around his friend. Her smile returned and everyone went inside to change.

They all took off in separate directions, leaving Altair and Leila alone. He was standing there quietly as if he didn't know what to do.

"Oh, that's right. You need some swimming trunks. My brother keeps them in his dresser," she informed him, heading up the stairs.

"There's no need for them," he replied. She turned around, concerned.

"Why not? You can't swim in jeans and a T-shirt," she giggled. He rolled his eyes, apparently not in the mood to give a full explanation.

"I'm not going swimming on purpose."

"Why not? It's hot outside," she justified, pointing to the sun blazing in the sky outside the patio window.

"I only swim when necessary," he said in a low tone, turning away from her.

"Wait- where are you going?" she asked, hand outstretched towards him.

"Don't worry about it."

-

-

The whole time Leila was in the pool, she tried to understand why Altair would refuse to join her and her friends. He did everything else superbly, so why would swimming be such a problem?

"Leila, are you over there zoning out?" Jake asked, splashing some water on her face. Sputtering and angry,"Jake!" she grumbled, wading after him. He tried to get away to the deeper end of the pool with his height as an advantage.

"You can't follow me, you little squirt!" he teased, stepping over into the two meter section of the pool.

"Curse you........" she growled playfully, then swam back to the shallow side. Hannah had been off alone on the other side in a doughnut, watching everyone else. Leila decided she'd try to ease the situation again.

"Hannah, why are you over here alone?" she asked. The residual anger was still in Hannah's tone.

"Because I want to be. Is there a problem?"

"There's no need to get hostile, Hannah. What happened earlier is done, so squash it. We're friends and have been for the past ten years. We shouldn't let a little name calling divide us so easily," she reasoned. Hannah glanced at her, then wiped the beads of water on her forehead.

"You're right," she exhaled. "I'm sorry I acted so immature earlier." They hugged briefly and Leila took the opportunity to drag her out of the floatation device and pull her under. Hannah resurfaced, coughing and red in the face.

"Leila!" she exclaimed in shock, throwing daggers at her with her eyes. She merely gave a Cheshire cat smile back. The girl chased after her, shoving water in her direction, only to wet the back of her head.

Little did they know that the boys were scheming to get them, so when Boris grabbed Leila and dragged her under, it wasn't until she was in the same situation that Hannah realized she fell right into their trap.

From below, Leila could hear them laughing and slapping each other five and it only got louder when her head bobbed above the surface. Hannah was right next to her, giving them the death glare.

"We'll get back at them, Hannah. I have a plan," Leila hummed evilly.

"Real smooth guys," she told them, putting her arms up on the edge of the pool. Leila and the rest followed suit.

"We had to. We couldn't pass up the chance," Mikhail told them. "So.....Leila, who really is Altair?" The question made her insides turn cold.

"I told you. He' s a friend from Spain," she replied.

"We know that much, but how old is he? What's his last name? What does he do for a living?" Boris asked. All eyes were on her at the moment. It felt like being grilled by the cops.

"He's 23. His surname is La'Ahad and his work is private." They all oohed. She looked around, eyebrows furrowed. Had she said something bad?

"Private work? What is he, CIA? NSA? MI6?" Jake teased.

"If he was, I wouldn't be able to tell you. But I'll tell you this: he can kill you," she warned.

"So he's some mysterious friend from Spain who surprisingly knows nothing about football yet plays it like Raul Gonzalez and he can kill all of us? Some friend you have," Mikhail whistled. "Where did you meet this guy?"

"He's an old friend of Aasim's. He moved away before we met any of you guys and now he's back."

"Why is he staying with you then?" Hannah asked.

"He thinks it's better that he stay here with me to keep me safe. My cousin is drifty nowadays, so he took it upon himself to protect me," Leila informed them.

"It's not like you're ten; you're twenty and absolutely old enough to take care of yourself," Boris added. Leila found herself growing agitated by the minute. Why were they so interested in Altair all of the sudden? And what did it matter to them if she let him stay in her house? They weren't her parents.

"Okay guys. Enough with the questions. I feel like the president with all this harassment," she grumbled, lifting herself out of the pool. "It's starting to get windy, so I'm gonna go inside and change." They all were of the same mind, so everyone started to get out.

When Leila turned around to head inside, she didn't expect to see the assassin standing there, watching with a hint of curiosity. She had chosen to wear her black bikini set, which showed off her tiny waist and adorable figure. Her mother always said those slender bones would count for something.

However long he was staring, it started to get uncomfortable until Leila moved past him and up the stairs. Mikhail, Jake, Boris and Hannah headed inside as well, but she made it a point to stop and talk to Altair.

He tried his best not to look, but with so much flesh exposed, he couldn't. Hannah's red leotard was moderate but still too tight and too short for his liking.

"That's really nice of you to stay with Leila and keep her safe," she told him. It was news to him as well, unaware of the lies that surrounded his name.

"I do what I can," he replied, heading towards the living room with Hannah in tow.

"You're fortunate you were able to be with Aasim before he passed," she sighed. Altair had never heard that name mentioned before.

"Aasim?" Hannah was bewildered.

"Your friend? He died two years ago?" she tried to jog his memory. He played along.

"Yes, I remember him," he said coldly. She seemed less worried about his mental state.

"He was a good older brother for her. Kept her under control and away from the boys," she added quickly, rushing upstairs before he could ask any other questions.

The assassin dismissed the comment about boys, and focused solely on this Aasim and why she failed to mention this person to him. He would be sure to ask her about him.

-

-

When they made it to the sparring ring, it was practically empty and now that Leila had gotten in some exercise, she was even more ready than before. Altair seemed as nonchalant as ever.

'Perhaps a little beating would wipe that smug look off his face,' she thought, tightening the straps on her gloves. The boys were looking on to see how quick Altair would be thrown to his back, while Hannah looked more worried than anything. The question was, though, _who_ was she worried about? Her friend or the handsome stranger she had her eye on?

"Keep in mind, Altair, that there are no hits to the head or groin or you will be disqualified. There's only one round, so fight like it's the last. Ready?" Mikhail asked the two in the ring.

Leila punched the air a few times, then nodded her head. He looked to Altair, whose eyes were intently fixed on his opponent, but he nodded once.

"Fight!" At first, she didn't know how to start since he didn't move yet. She moved left, his eyes followed. She moved right, his eyes followed. It was like being potential prey being watched by a predator. Is this what is was like to be in the sights of an assassin?

Leila didn't allow the fear to grip her mind for too long and it nearly cost her the match when Altair suddenly moved in, swinging low to knock the wind out of her and be done with it. She jumped back, then reversed with a light jab, hitting nothing but air. He had moved his head to the right and brought his left hand to her side. His fist was solid and deliberate, making the impact of the blow hurt even more as she clutched her ribs and backed away.

It started to hurt to breathe, but she shook if off and stepped back in, her left hand lightning fast as it faked a swing to let her right paw strike against his rock hard torso. It actually hurt her more than it did him. Altair absorbed the blow instead and used the open window to land a few punches on her abs.

The first simply caught her off guard, the second stung and the final and third make spit fly from her mouth. Leila fell to the floor, gulping for air as she clenched her stomach in pain.

"And that's the match! Throw in the towel!" Mikhail announced. No one had ever seen Leila go down in four hits--practically dying as she lay there trying to fill her lungs with oxygen.

The boys and Hannah, with the exception of Mikhail, gathered around him, giving him pats on the back and commending him. Hannah hadn't even bothered to see if her friend was alright.

Leila noticed the negligence in her actions, and it only upset her more.

"Are you okay, Leila? That last hit looked like it almost killed you," he noted quietly, helping her to her feet. She stood, rubbing her midsection as she turned away from the small crowd.

"It sure felt like it. I've never been defeated so.......easily," she breathed in disbelief. Mikhail gave his cousin a ruffle of her hair.

"Don't feel too bad. He's like some bionic soccer player from Spain, anyway. I don't think anyone could beat him. You'll always be number one, Leila." She frowned a little then with a smile,"Yeah. Unless Altair will be here to stay, which may be the case."

That was a matter she had never given serious thought. If he really was over 800 years old, how was he to get home? How'd he get there in the first place?

"Are you okay, Leila? Do you need to go to the doctor?" he asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face. Shaking her head,"I'm sorry, I was thinking of something else. All I need right now is to go home and soak in some hot bath water," she groaned, sliding out of the ring and heading for her bag to leave. Altair broke from the group and followed his driver.

"Do you need us to come watch movies and eat with you to heal your crushed spirit, Leila?" Boris teased.

"Don't make excuses to stay away from home, Boris. Good night," she called back, walking into the warm, still night of Jerusalem. Leila was silent as she unlocked the passenger door to her car and started the engine. When they were on the road and at a stop sign, the assassin looked out of the corner of his eye to glance at her, expecting her to say something. She stayed silent, keeping her eyes on the paved streets.

The car was now parked in the garage and Leila closed her door and headed into the main house to shower. Altair wasn't trying to follow, but she was moving too fast for him to keep up. Before he could even get through the garage door, the sound of running water could be heard over his head.

-

-

When she emerged downstairs clean and not much more relaxed than when she arrived, Leila found Altair on the couch, the glow of the TV making his eyes appear ghastly when he looked up at her.

She didn't want him to recognize her presence--she just wanted to sit and unwind for a little while before bed.

"If you are upset about the sparring match earlier, it was nothing of great importance," Altair told her coldly. She didn't know he if was trying to make her feel better, or rub it in her face by playing it off as nothing more than a small quarrel.

"I've forgotten about it already," she breathed,"Or are you that much of jackass?"

"Name-calling is not necessary, or are you that much of a sore loser?" he shot back with just as much sarcasm as she. Angered, she let her fury overtake her.

"Ever since you awakened, you've been nothing but an insensitive, arrogant, sexist _boy_, calling me girl instead of by my name and belittling me with your stupid old fancy talk!" she exploded. Altair stood to his full height, craning his neck down to her level. His eyes were sharp and furious like that of the winged creature that shared his name.

Leila started to falter, but she held her ground, unafraid of his size and aura of intimidation.

"I will not have a woman mouth off at me, especially one as uncouth and imprudent as you," he growled, backing her against the wall but keeping their distance from one another. She nearly stood on her toes to get in his face.

"And what will you do about it? Absolutely nothing. I welcomed you into my home," she reminded him. He balled up his large fist then placed his palm gently on the barrier as he sighed heavily.

"I could gladly make this _my_ home, girl," he hissed, seething.

"Then why didn't you when you first met me?" she asked back, staring deep into his eyes. The question apparently baffled him, for his eyes softened for a moment, then again grew hard and cold right after. They stood there, breathing heavily and inches apart from one another. The smell of her perfumed hair and skin acted as a lure to bring him closer to her, but Leila mistook it for an attempt to hurt her and she pushed him away, storming off to her room without so much as a glance behind her.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Another chapter! Yay! I hadn't meant for their argument to happen so soon, but I saw that it would fit in this chapter after Leila lost that spar. It may mirror that scene in Hidden Blade in some ways for those who remember. I hope it's not too cliche or repetitive for people. I wanted Leila to be perceived as a girl who doesn't take mess from anyone and here we are! We'll see some more of her spunk in later chapters.

And I'm really sorry it took so long to update. So much has been going on. Check my profile often for updates on stories and my artwork on Deviantart. Until next time, please review! :):):)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter six!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Apologies**

That argument that had just occurred felt like Leila was talking to her brother. They loved each other to death, but there were some things where they bumped heads-and sometimes violently. Aasim never hurt her physical being, but their word quarrels often ended with her in tears. He always made it a point to apologize and make her feel better through means of laughter.

She knew well enough already Altair was not going to rush upstairs to apologize and cheer her up any time soon. Who had really started the argument, Leila did not know. The situation was already volatile and by her temper being set off by his usual smart-aleck remarks-that should have been of no surprise to her by now-it all went downhill.

Now in her bedroom, Leila picked up the scrap book she made for her 3rd grade family project. Inside were the memories she wished she could live over and over again.

The vacation to the United States, the trip to New Zealand and most importantly, the days she spent in snowy Quebec with her family. She was eight then and had remembered everything like it was yesterday: the snowball fights, the hot chocolate and walking through the almost surreal downtown where the lights burned gold under the thick white sheets of ice.

She turned to a more recent event that both made her smile and be stabbed at heart.

It was a picture of her brother waving goodbye as he got on the last airplane he'd ever board. And the other image was that of her parents, just a few months after his accident. They were getting inside the last car they'd ever drive to go celebrate their anniversary of 25 years as man and wife.

Leila tried to smile, but she couldn't see past the darkness that shrouded those moments. Her chest suddenly felt tight as she tried to fight back the tears. Her eyes burned with a warm sensation that blurred her vision until she closed her eyelids and let the tears flow in dead silence.

Altair happened to be passing by her room to retire for the night when he picked up sniffling with his extra sensitive ears. He paused for a moment, having thought he really did hurt her feelings. The assassin was torn.

Even after years of being taught how to be cold and emotionless towards people, he still had the right mind to go in Leila's room and see what was wrong.

He started off towards her cracked door, then halted in his steps, the sound of his heart beat thudding loudly in his ears. Finally, he turned away and entered his room, firmly closing the aperture behind him.

Leila had felt his presence close to her room and ceased her crying to see if he would actually come in. When she heard his heavy footsteps grow louder, her forehead began to sweat as she watched her green egress for motion.

Nothing happened for a brief moment, then the assassin walked away and with the shut of his door, Leila sighed in relief before delving into her covers and turning out her light.

The next morning, Leila woke up at the usual 7 AM and started breakfast-for two, of course. She was angry at Altair, but she wasn't cruel.

He came down minutes after she started, silent as always. Their eyes didn't bother to meet, and Leila didn't try to start a conversation. Apollo was by Altair's side, peering up at him curiously. The assassin gave him a good scratch between the ears, then dismissed the pup.

When their meal finished, she set the plates down on either side of the long table in their dining area, a great distance separating the two from each other. Altair may have thought it was deliberate, but for her it was customary for a male and female to dine on opposite sides when they were the only two at the table.

Obviously, he had already grown accustomed to her bringing up a topic of her interest when neither had spoken a word yet; she felt his eyes on her form every few minutes and when she wasn't looking. It was uncomfortable to have someone stare at her whenever they got the chance, and Leila wanted to address it, but she was not yet ready to speak to him.

As she got up to gather the dishes, Altair stood as well, leaving his plate behind and retiring to the living room couch to watch whatever program aglow in the LCD TV. It was of no surprise to her that he displayed such medieval masculine customs-eat, leave the dishes, and go spend some time to leisure while the wife did all the cleaning. Leila was too grateful for words that the cultural norms of the Muslim world had relaxed just enough for women to have some time to themselves, although there were some extremists that wouldn't even approve of her showing her arms in public.

When she finished, there was a dilemma she had failed to realize: sit down and watch TV with Altair or return to her room and be alone as always? Sighing, Leila flipped the switch in the kitchen and plopped down in the recliner in front of the television.

The assassin felt her presence, yet didn't acknowledge it. The volume was down low enough to make her sleepy all over again, so she grabbed the remote and kicked it up a few notches. The somnambulism in her eyes faded immediately and she started to think of what they could do that day when she remembered: every third Thursday, she would take all day to shop for herself.

'He wouldn't mind me going, would he?' she thought, then immediately shook her head mentally. 'What am I _thinking_? He's not my husband, let alone my boyfriend!'

She stood up and headed for her room to change. His eyes followed, but only for a brief moment.

In just a few motions, she changed out of her sleeping pants and shirt and into a pair of dark denim jeans and a light orange baby doll top with matching slip-ons. To top it off, Leila put her hair in a long, dark ponytail. Now that she felt complete, she returned downstairs.

As she was going for her keys, "Where are you going?" Altair's cool voice asked. She didn't bother to turn to him.

"To a place where you can buy clothes. I'll be back later on today." Instead of going out the front to the BMW, she went to the 2010 Ford SEL inside the garage and climbed inside. It had been a present from her brother to their parents before he passed. Completely untouched. Fresh leather seats and a full tank of gas.

Leila didn't know why the urge to drive the forgotten car was so strong that day, but feeling the hard plastic steering wheel and the cockpit sense of security on and around her, the memory of her parents resurfaced. They had never set down in the vehicle, but their aura could be felt all over.

She closed her eyes, reminiscing briefly until the passenger door opened, causing her temperature to rise quickly and her heart pound furiously in her chest.

Even though she knew it was Altair, her body refused to return to its normal functionality.

"Must you do that?" she asked in a soft, but annoyed tone. He didn't voice it nor show it, but she guessed it entertained him to see her react the way she did.

"Being able to move without being seen or heard is crucial to an assassin," he justified.

"What made you decide to come with me?" she went ahead and asked. There was no time for Leila to play games. She and the mall had a date.

"My curiosity has been piqued a little," he fessed. Snorting, "You? Curious? I learn something new every day," she chuckled, pressing the button to open the garage door.

Before she could even pull out, what looked like a mail man stopped the black sedan from leaving. "Jeez! I could've hit that guy." He gestured her to roll down the window.

"I'm sorry for jumping out in front of your car like that, but this letter didn't come with your other parcels." He handed her a fuchsia-colored envelope and she read the name of the sender: Abstergo Industries, the partner company of her father's. Furrowing her brows, "Who gave this to you?"

"A man in a black suit and shades. Clean cut and neat as a pin. Didn't give me a name." With that being said, he got back in his car and drove away, disappearing over the hill.

Carefully tearing off the top so as to not to destroy the letter, Leila pulled it out and read under her breath:

'DEAR SAFFAR REPRESENTATIVE,

ABSTERGO PHARMACEUTICALS HAS BEEN A STEADY SISTER COMPANY TO SAFFAR OIL AND TECHNOLOGIES FOR A STUNNING 25 YEARS. IN ORDER TO CELEBRATE THIS LONG-TIME BUSINESS LIAISON, WE CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO A SILVER BALL EVENT BEING HELD IN TEL AVIV, ISRAEL ON SATURDAY, JUNE 12TH. IT WILL BEGIN AT 8 PM AND END PROMPTLY AT MIDNIGHT. YOUR PRESENCE WOULD BE GREATLY APPRECIATED. WE HOPE TO SEE YOU THEN.

-ADAM MERIDIAN, CEO OF ABSTERGO INDUSTRIES'

"Hm," was all she could say at the moment. The event was a month away, and she still had to find out how Altair had arrived in Jerusalem. Other than that mysterious dilemma, she would be glad to attend. It was an opportunity to get away from the mundane routine she called life, an opportunity she did not want to miss. Could not miss.

"What is it?" the assassin asked, breaking into her thoughts.

"It's an invite to an anniversary celebration. My father's company has been adjoined with another for 25 years. I had no idea it had been that long. Aasim would be 23 in August, the month my parents were married," she said softly, followed by a wry smile.

Altair had meant to ask her about Aasim, this person he claimed to have known in the past. "Who is Aasim?" Leila sat in silence a moment, trying to keep herself from crying as she briefly resurrected her brother.

"He is..._was_ my older brother. He died about a year ago in a bad accident," she revealed in a nonchalant tone to keep the warm tears at bay.

"I'm sorry," he said, not sound the least bit remorseful. But she knew he was just trying to be sympathetic. Leila felt little better about her loss, but she didn't need his pity and he did not need to change his cold, calculating attitude towards her for the sake of her feelings.

"It wasn't your fault. No one knew the engines on the plane were faulty." Before she started up the car, a stinging tear fell down her cheek; yet, she didn't bother to wipe it away.

The next day came suddenly and unexpectedly. Leila felt robbed of her sleep, although she had been resting for the past 10 hours.

She hadn't bought anything at the mall the evening before, but she felt accomplished. Altair was not from her time, but he had the same attitude most men had when they went shopping with their girlfriends and wives. It was the expected bored sighs, a lot of resting his chin in his palms, and he even started to doze off when she went into the dressing rooms. She didn't mind though; a few pictures stored in her phone would be many happy memories she'd cherish in the future.

After a breakfast that consisted of eggs, hummus and baked bread, Leila decided to let it digest as she lay on the couch, watching TV. Altair sat in the recliner with his eye on a certain white box sitting on the shelf.

"What is that?" he asked of her. Leila craned her head up, looking at him as best she could.

"What is what?"

"That white box."

She rested her neck,"Oh. That is a video game system. It's called an Xbox 360. Tons of people have one and they spend hours on end playing it with their friends throughout the world." He nodded his head in slight understanding. His concept of the whole world was completely different from hers, since he didn't know a whole other hemisphere with millions of people existed across the Atlantic Ocean. The term video game was entirely new to him.

"How does it work?" Leila was pleased to show him, getting up to retrieve the boomerang-shaped controller and turning it on. The green ring lit up and the screen turned to her profile. Her avatar stood there until she loaded Forza, the last game she was playing.

"This is a racing game."

"With horses?"

"No. Cars, like the one you nearly crashed." Leila took the game to practice mode and gave him the controller. "Here. A is to go, B is to slow down, Y is to change your camera view. The bumpers are the hand brakes and the triggers release your NO2."

He started the car at a slow, uneasy pace, then pressed down harder on the A-button. The red Corvette picked up speed just as he was supposed to slow down and make the turn.

"Slow down when going through a turn!" she ordered. Silently, he listened (to her surprise) and missed the wall by a few feet. He made the car accelerate to 65 MPH, then to 80 and everything in the TV screen was whizzing by as he drove down the straight endless road.

'He's getting the hang of it that fast? Must be a quick learner,' she concluded, watching him remember her warning to slow take the turns at a slower speed.

After he finished the practice run, she let him race against the CPUs and he lost the first time. Leila found herself being more like his driving coach than a spectator of a video game, and he was actually listening to her advice! The feeling was wonderful, instructing him in the art of car racing.

She had yet to pick up the second controller, but when she did, it turned into an intense race like the competition they had between Kadar and Yasminah. The video game world was her domain and he was _not_ going to win this time.

It was a close run, Altair often running her off the road and her smashing into his car. He was silent as always, but she knew the intensity in the air was like a fierce grip on her heart and throat. Her scalp was beginning to itch and her insides felt feverish as they came to the last turn in the track.

Leila's 2009 Mustang was right alongside the assassin's 1968 Impala (he already had a thing for vintage), the loud hum of their engines getting louder as they pressed in the A-button. Leila thought she was going to break the controller in two, she was pushing down the button so hard.

Finally, they reached the finish line and it announced that 'LeilaMoonChild' had won the race. She pumped her fist in victory, "YES! I won! Whoo!" She felt like her head was full of helium gas until that pressure of crossing the finish line first wore away. Altair merely sat there, wallowing in his mire of the spirit of loss.

"Don't feel bad, Altair. We'll play again soon. It was a nice race," she said, impulsively giving him a hug as they sat on the carpeted floor.

He stiffened up, refraining from reacting while she relished in it.

His body was soft and warm, feverish even, but it felt good against the bare skin on her neck.

When she finally realized what she was doing with whom, she pulled away quickly, having felt like she invaded his personal space, which she did.

His honey brown eyes were fixed on her, as if asking for an explanation for her actions.

"Sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Well..." she dragged on, looking around the room nervously. "You wanna learn how to drive for real?"  
_

A loooong awaited update, I know. I'm sorry; finals preparation and lots of things outside school can really tie you up. Plus I had writer's block. I think reading this book called Native Son and Stop Laughing At Me really helped channel my creativity. :) Picking up a book _is_ useful!

Updates for my other stories will come soon, as I will be working on them often. Until next time then, yes? This chapter didn't stink, did it? Please let me know through your reviews and I'll try to improve. ^_^


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter seven!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

******That Abstergo letter in chapter 6 meant to say Jerusalem, not New York. :P

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Seven: Contemporary Memories**

Leila waited until night to start teaching Altair how to drive. Allowing him to drive during the day- and in commuter traffic, at that- was a very bad experiment she never wished to conduct again. He still seemed a little skeptical about trying from what she could see, but she also knew him well enough to know he wouldn't back down from a challenge. Maybe he_ was _from the past; she'd have to take his word for it until he slipped up, if he was faking, at that.

Instead of taking the expensive Taurus, they took the first car she ever drove, a 1986 Integra. Although Altair was probably used to the best horses in 1189, he knew the difference between a bucket of bolts and a reliable vehicle.

"You want me to drive _that_?" he asked. With a smirk,"Yes...Unless you can't handle difficult circumstances," she taunted him. His eyes never left the car; he took the keys from her palm and got into the driver's seat. Leila climbed in on the other side. She wasn't the best instructor in the world, but he would never know that.

"First step: put on your seat belt." When he hesitated, Leila reached over him, grabbed the belt and snapped it in. His gaze followed the trail of her gentle scent for a moment.

"Next, put the key in the ignition, that little hole right there," she pointed out. He stuck the key carefully inside,"Now turn it until you hear the engine turn over." He did so, and the car came to life.

"Okay, so far so good. Now, take that handle, push in that button and move it down from the P to the N." He wrapped his large palm over it and did such. The Integra rolled forward on its own slowly and she panicked.

"Put your foot on the long pedal, quick!" she exclaimed. Without hesitation, he slammed his foot on it, and the wheels stopped immediately. "Good," she sighed, "That pedal your foot is on stops the car, but you can't do what you did just now; you have to ease your foot onto it to apply gradual pressure. That other pedal makes the car accelerate; the harder your foot pushes it, the faster you go," she explained. She could see the gears grinding in his head, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight, and before she could strap in, they were roaring down the road and through a stop sign.

"Altair, you have to stop!" she yelled, watching the car with the ride-away screech to a stop, then see the driver flip them off. Her head turned to him angrily, but he wasn't paying attention; he was having too much fun at the moment. His eyes were sharp, surprisingly dark as they focused on the black asphalt and the broken white lines whizzing by.

Leila closed her eyes; she had forgotten to breathe in all the rush of things. She had to figure out a way to get him to slow down. What if the cops were doing their routine traffic check, lurking in the darkness of the roads to surprise speeding drivers? Altair had no license, no ID and his fingerprint wouldn't turn up anything. They'd suspect him of being a refugee from a warring country; worse yet, a terrorist.

"Altair, you have to slow down. There are guards in faster cars with weapons that wait in the dark to catch people driving too fast; that includes _you_," she emphasized. The assassin considered her words, pressing his foot on the brake pedal and stopping at a red light where a cop already had their light flashed on someone's face. The driver was disgruntled in accepting the fine of 300 pounds. As if he knew what they were up to, the tall, dark cop looked in their direction, studying their tanned faces briefly before sliding into his car and pulling off.

"That uniformed man is a guard of Jerusalem?" he asked, knowing to go when the light was green.

"Yeah, he is-hey, how'd you know to go when it was green?" she questioned in disbelief.

"Your television had a feature film with people driving cars, apparently something similar to what we are doing now."

"Oh. You seem to be a quick learner, anyway," she complimented.

"Yes, I am. I have to be in order to become a Master Assassin."

"You guys are in ranks?"

"Yes. Us 'guys' are in ranks. There are very few who strive to become Master Assassins."

"Do you know any of the other Master Assassins?" His once relaxed grip on the wheel tightened.

"Yes. Malik Al-Sayf." The way he said his name denoted intense dislike and fierce competition. She knew that tone whenever it came from Aasim.

"Who became one first?"

"I did," he answered quickly, firmly, proudly. He was always so sure of himself. The women must have desired him so. Even though she fought it, his very stance and gait dripped with a sensual authority very few men seemed to have, unless they had power and embraced it, putting it out there for all to see. His power was in his unmatchable skills not too many could attain no matter how hard they tried. He had a gift, and he cherished it a little too much for Leila to come running to him for it.

"He must not like you; neither your fellow Assassins," she added slowly, deliberately, to see how he'd react. His eyes fell upon her for a moment.

"I do not care what the others think of me. They can envy me all they want; it doesn't change anything." Leila understood partially as to why he was so introverted. Although they bled for the same cause, his brethren hated him for something he had no control over. It was in his power to be humble about his exceptional skills, but that was only part of the problem. He must have received special attention from whomever they served, attention the others wanted and needed. The star pupil, Altair, had no friends to share his successes with, so he turned his back on them and vice versa. Leila only felt sorry that there had to be times when he felt lonely.

"They are...envious of your skill?" she prodded carefully.

"Yes." Altair was back to his one-word responses. Leila felt the brick and mortar defense being built up again, and she did not try to further the conversation.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"They've been gone an hour now, Kyle!" his anxious partner exclaimed, watching the empty driveway through the TV monitor.

"It's still not time, Erik. They could return at any time, too. If we decide to go now and she pulls up with that guy moments later, then what? We're done." Erik growled, hitting the key board in front of him.

"All this waiting is killing me. Exactly when are we going to pull this job, then?"

"Did you _not _see the invitation they gave her to that ball next week?"

"Yeah. Are you telling me we have to wait another six days to get our money?" he asked in disbelief. Kyle tossed his soda can in the trash.

"Yes. Patience is the key. I'm pretty sure the wait will be worth all of that stuff in that house."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tired, old Integra pulled into the garage and came to a stop when Altair put it in park. Leila had been thinking about their conversation, which had convinced her he had been telling the truth the whole time.

_He wouldn't go to such great lengths to convince me into believing a lie. The missing finger, the clothes, the weapons, everything he has shown or told me points to the past. I was so sure he was lying..._Leila was satisfied to solve the mystery behind his character, but disappointed that what she hypothesized was flat-out wrong.

She was slouched in her seat, staring blankly ahead, while Altair sat there, staring at her quizzically.

"Leila," he said, the first L delicately jumping off his tongue only to be caught by the second L in her name. She finally came to, sitting up, blinking simultaneously.

"Sorry, Altair. I was just...thinking." They climbed out at the same time. As she went for the door, Altair stopped dead in his tracks at sight of the two-wheeled vehicle off in the corner.

"What is that?" he asked. She whirled around in a panic, thinking he saw a wild jackal.

"Where?" He pointed to the object of interest. Her shoulders relaxed.

"That's a motorcycle. Dangerous, but fun." He looked back at her, a slight begging in his eyes. "Not tonight," she stated, pushing open the door to go inside and collapse on the couch. Their day hadn't consisted of much, but she felt drained from the mental workout she had.

The assassin came in moments after her, seeing her body splayed on the furniture. Apollo was sitting next to her, quiet as always.

"Leila." She didn't move. He drew close to her and gave her shoulder a light tap. A heavy exhale escaped her lips; she was already asleep. He didn't know whether to leave her there and go to bed himself, or take her upstairs to her room.

Carefully, he scooped her up into his arms, a little surprised at how light she was. Her clothes had the lingering smell of the perfume she used when she stepped out of the shower. She was warm and soft, padded even, the way a woman was supposed to feel. He remembered Adha saying he had feverish hands whenever he held them about her waist when they were locked in an embrace. A part of him yearned for that feeling again, but now was not the time, nor the place. He had to return to his own time first. If he could go back. He had to find her, though that would be impossible with absolutely no leads as to where they had taken her. He had to go back to Cyprus, he had to-

Before his thoughts became overwhelming, he shook them away, forgetting he was carrying a sleeping woman in his arms up a flight of stairs. Leila said she'd help him; he was eager to go back, though there were so many things his mind was still trying to grasp about the future. He had gotten a taste of temptation and now he wanted to satisfy the whole desire. What was that thing in garage called? A motorcycle. He was going to talk to her about it in the morning when she awakened.

She moaned softly as he pushed open her bedroom door. He had never seen the inside, and didn't expect to see a wall-sized photo in black and white of her, laying in the grass, reading a book. Her eyes were serious, focused on the writing in front of her. The black mane she called hair was tousled about her head, falling down her bare shoulders, curling at the ends. Her lips were parted ever so slightly, innocent yet enticing as a rose amongst the thorns.

He looked away, half-ashamed for having stared so long, as if he had never seen a pretty face before. He could not allow his heart to lead him in every direction he wanted. He had someone waiting for him in 1189, somewhere in the world. The search would be strenuous, long, and require a lot of effort, but he would do all he could to find her. But...his thoughts erupted as he laid her down, what if Leila was unable to find him a way home? What if he was stuck here forever? Adha could not wait, but she would be long dead at this point in time, in no need of rescuing or his warm touches.

And he could not let what she meant to him get in the way of his duties as an Assassin, a Master Assassin at that. Al Mualim would frown on his loyalties being divided; one or the other would become a priority. The Third Crusade loomed over the Holy Land's head and the Templars and Saracens threatened the already unstable peace, rousing the Assassin order's interest greatly. Al Mualim taught him not to get attached to anyone, especially a woman, for fear of hindering his judgment, yet he disobeyed and landed in the situation at hand. And now he had to deal with the worry that would resurface at the strangest of times.

He looked down at the young woman shifting in her sleep, her dark lashes, her dark hair. If he could not go home, would she allow him to live in her home for however long he'd need to depend on her? There was only one way to find out and that was to wait and see how things played out in the near future.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm surprised at how fast I wrote this chapter. In all of 2 hours, I got this chapter out, which was way overdue. I hope it wasn't too wordy for folks; I've been reading Native Son by Richard Wright and his use of language is so wonderful I had to use that skill. Hopefully people liked it. Please review and tell me what you think. I like to know what people think of my writing. A Forgotten Life and Nereza's Serenade will be up sometime later this week. Until next time!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter seven!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental.

******That Abstergo letter in chapter 6 meant to say Jerusalem, not New York. :P

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eight: Preparations**

_"Leila, your father and I will be gone for a few days, so be on your best behavior while Aunt May is here."_

_"I will, as always, but why does she actually have to stay in the house? She lives right over the hill; a little exercise won't hurt her every day."_

_"Leila, be nice. The idea of leaving you here all alone is not comforting. We just want to make sure you're safe at all times."_

_"Mom, I know Aasim's death has made you on edge about everything I do, but his was an accident-a failed engine on the airplane. I'll be right here when you two come back from Nassau, safe and sound."_

_..._

_"Hello? Yes, this is the Saffar residence." Silence. "Something has happened?" Silence. "Are they alright?" Silence. "My goodness...When did it happen?" Silence. "Of course, of course. I will bring Leila with me. Thank you. Good-bye."_

_"Aunt May, what happened?"_

_"We have to go now; I'll explain on the way to the hospital."_

_"Hospital? Did something happen to Mom and Dad?"_

_"...Yes. They got into a really bad accident on their way to the airport."_

_"Are they alright? They're at the hospital, alive right?"_

_"..."_

_..._

_"The dearly departed Adamian and Rebekah Saffar left everything to you in their will. Aasim was to take over the company when he turned 21, but since you are the only remaining child, it will be turned over to you at 18, which is just a few months away, unless you decide to wait a few years to take over in your parents' places. A representative will fill your position until you are ready. The board has already assigned one, whenever you give us the green light."_

_"..."_

_"You'll have to understand that she's still shocked over their deaths. It may be some time before she'll speak again."_

_"Leila, it's important that you express your opinion before Saffar Gasoline merges with Abstergo Pharmaceutical Company. So today would be preferred for your decision."_

_"...Your representative will take my place until I'm ready. For now, that exact date is indefinite. If the board feels the liaison needs to be made, then so be it. My father planned on signing the agreement, anyway."_

_"Good. You will not regret your decision to link with Abstergo. The 4.5 billion dollars your parents have grossed since 1983 will double in the years to come. Your trust fund will be virtually bottomless until you pass on and hand it over to your children, Leila."_

_"It's not about the money, Mr. Reeche; it's what my father would have wanted. Dollars do not replace love. Nothing will replace my family."_

Leila finally opened her eyes; another memory recreated in the form of a dream. She saw her parents again. Their faces were obscured by some gray, unshakable haze, but their voices were clear in her head. That was something about them she'd never forget. The whitewashed tombstones. The pale faces.

Her shaky vision focused on her digital alarm clock that burned three large, red numbers in her eyes: 4:36. Only 2 and a half hours until sunrise. How long had she been out?

Lifting herself up from her bed- wait. When did she manage to get upstairs and climb into bed? Her last recollection of the day was collapsing on the couch in the living room. There was only one explanation.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aasim's bedroom door opened silently as she pushed against it with the soft side of her hand.

_This is insane. He probably has Spider-Man's sense of hearing. Why did I have to act on this__ particular urge?_ It was too late to turn back now- well, she could have run right back out, but she was curious as to _how_ well he could hear her footsteps.

The dim light bulb of his room cast a brown glow on his face, which was- for once- relaxed as he slept quietly. The only sounds in the room were that of her pounding heart and the heavy exhales that left his nostrils. The heavy exhales of a man in deep sleep.

She was at his bedside now, watching him from her full height. He still hadn't moved, his breathing still regular. Although the top portion of his face was clearly visible, her eyes rested on the outline of his lips. They were perfect, shaped like Cupid's bow.

Leila reached out, tempted to get a feel of them, then refrained from coming too close. He would awaken as soon as he felt the pads of her fingertips.

Nervously, she got to her knees at his bedside as if she were about to pray over him and leaned in, watching his face for any sudden changes. The air from his nostrils was now blowing gently against her cheeks, cooling the hot beads of sweat on her face.

Her back ached from the strain of using sheer upper body strength to keep from smashing their faces together as she moved ever closer, a nauseating feeling in her stomach, the sensation of blood rushing to her cheeks. Finally, the moment came when she urged her body to move forward a little more.

It was strange to Leila to feel another person's lips against hers. He hadn't reacted in the slightest form or fashion, and she wasted no time sitting there, getting up to her feet and disappearing down the dark hall to her own room.

_I had no idea that that was what it felt like to be kissed. Well, I didn't really feel anything; Altair wasn't involved at all. He'd probably kill me if he found out, but I'm actually surprised he didn't wake up as soon as I entered the room...Well, no need to think about it any longer; it's in the past now._

Like an elated school girl who just got asked to the prom, she plopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a semi-conscious state of mind.  
************

Before Leila knew it, she was up again, four hours later. The fluttering butterflies in her belly had flown away. The frog leaping in her chest was now calm. Who knew a slight peck of lips between two humans could mean so much, even when one of the two was not even conscious at the time? She ignored that fact completely and got up to change. The air was warm as always, but not stifling like the past few days had been, so she could afford to dress a little more conservatively. (Altair seemed to frown every time she wore something that was not a frock.) A pair of khaki Bermudas and a blue T-shirt wouldn't be an eyesore, hopefully.

Altair was already downstairs, out of his clothes from the day before, yet still nonchalant in demeanor as always. Leila wished she hadn't locked eyes with him.

His stare was intoxicating to her senses, casting some kind of spell over her actions. Her once fluid gait was now controlled and stiff now that she was aware he was watching her every move in the kitchen.

_Why does he have to stare? It's as if he knows I sneaked into his room..._ She decided she'd try to break the ice a little.

"Good morning, Altair." Her voice quivered just a little as it hit a falsetto tone of voice that made her cringe inside. She finished mixing the pancake batter.

_What was that? _she asked herself. The facade she was trying to use to cover up her anxiety was failing miserably, and she knew that if he truly were an assassin, he'd see something wrong with that picture.

Her eyes looked in his direction for a moment, waiting for his response, which was the usual silence. Afterward, she poured the mixture into the hot skillet, creating four plate-sized circles.

Just as she got used to the silence in the air, "You're acting as if something is bothering you," Altair pointed out to her. She froze, the hairs on her neck standing up on end.

_Darn it!_ Casually, she slipped out, "What makes you think that?" as she flipped over a pancake. It was starting to burn on the edges.

"You're moving as if stuck between two walls." Leila tried not to notice he had gotten to his feet.

"I'm still a little sleepy, is all," she fibbed.

"You're lying." His voice was louder. "You're acting as if on edge."

"I am...edgy in the mornings sometimes, especially after a nightmare." The pancakes were done; she piled them onto a plate.

"What was this nightmare about?"

_Must he prod and dig his way to the truth?_

"I was being chased by a man in a red hood. He had a knife and we were in the woods, alone." Her voice was trembling again; Leila turned around. Altair was standing about a hand's length away from her. She tried to play off her nervousness as he studied her, dividing her soul with his golden brown eyes.

"Go on."

"The woods never seemed to end, but I could see a bright city just in front of me. And then I fell, and that's when I woke up." He seemed satisfied with her story, tilting his stubbled chin upward ever so slightly. Leila tried to break the tension by turning back to the stove to busy herself with something, but she failed to realize he had her barricaded in. His arms were on either side of her, forcing her to remain stationary. Like a frightened field mouse in the sights of a ravenous serpent, she stood still, locking gazes with him.

"Uum...Altair..." she voiced quietly. He ignored the slight authority in her tone and pressed forward slowly. With every inch he came close-there were not that many to spare-Leila's heart thud heavily in her chest. First, their noses made contact, causing her to shiver all over when she felt the exhales from his nostrils flowing gently onto her lips. There would only be a matter of time before they finally came together, and she stood waiting, anticipating her first kiss, even though Altair was still a perfect stranger and a guest in her home.

But wait. If they did this, then what would stop them from taking the _next_ step? No one was there to police their actions, to keep them separate, to douse the flames of the passion burning between them. They'd go all the way, even though Leila would try her best to stay untouched until she was married. There was only so much a woman could do to protect herself from a man.

Altair was twice her size, outmatched her in speed and dexterity, and he was appealing to the eyes, all factors that she found irresistibly attractive, unfortunately. If anything were to happen, he wouldn't expect her to feel violated; he read her like an open book.

Out of impulse, but mostly panic, "If we do this, then it'd be an awkward situation for you to stay here." He pulled away, just enough to stare into her eyes.

"But that didn't stop _you_ last night." Leila felt her heart jump up to her throat, her stomach twist in knots. He knew she sneaked into his room. He knew she kissed him.

Leila didn't know how to respond.

"I..." Her cheeks flushed red, and she forced her way out of his arms and up the stairs. She dove onto her bed, smothering her face in her cool pillow, screaming at herself, and completely unaware that he had followed her to her room.

"Do all women in the future yell into their pillow when they are embarrassed?" he interrupted, causing her to sit up straight, breathing heavily.

"No, just me. I can't believe I did that..." she trailed off, running both of her hands through her hair.

"Think nothing of it. Just never do it again," he warned her. His eyes passed over her as if he was tired of her. She was about to start an argument with him over his arrogant, annoying norms, but held her tongue yet again. He was the one who chose to follow, not she. But if he hadn't, she would have stayed in her room all day to avoid him. So, in a way, she had to thank him for easing the situation she created with her silly 'girl antics'.

"Sometimes I hate being a woman," she sighed, falling back on the bed.  
************

Several hours later, Leila headed downstairs after having taken a much needed nap to settle the jumpy feelings she had after the incident with the kiss. If she had one wish, it'd be to forget about it completely.

Altair was in the living room, laying face up with his hands on his stomach, sleeping, or so it appeared to be to her.

She passed right by him to get to her shoes, and sat in the armchair to put them on.

"Are you going to try and kiss me again?" he asked. Rolling her eyes, "No, Altair. I think I'll hug you this time."

"A smart mouth detracts from a woman's beauty," he shot back.

"That's why I consider myself a _smart_ woman with a _mouth._" He said nothing further as he sat up, watching her closely.

"Leaving?"

"Yes. And this time, you have to come with me."

"I _have_ to?" he asked in skepticism.

"_Yes._ Where we're going next week, you have to look very nice."

"What do you mean?"

"The clothes you wear now-jeans, shirt, basketball shoes-are considered casual. The clothes you need- tuxedo, tie, wing-tipped shoes- are at the mall. If we go now, we can avoid the foot traffic of family shoppers."

"Family shoppers?" he asked in the form of a statement. She got to her feet. "Yes, family shoppers. Husbands, wives, and children storming and raiding every store until they're empty. It's 2:35 right now, just two hours before they arrive, so we have plenty of time to find something for you." Altair got up as well, and followed her to the garage.

Moments later, they were strapped in and headed for the mall.  
eve************

Malha Mall was deserted when they arrived, with the exception of the high school students out for summer break. Leila was used to seeing lines outside every department store door, and nearly being trampled to death by people storming towards the next blowout sale. They chose the perfect time to go.

"Come on. We need to get to Hamashbir so you can try on some suits." She led him up the escalator to the second floor straight to the men's department. A tired-looking middle-aged man was sitting at the counter, aimlessly toying with the loose tassel of his key chain until he saw the young pair walking towards him. Apparently, they were his first customers in a long time, because his eyes lit up and his whole body seemed to glow suddenly.

"Hello! What can I do for this lovely couple?" Leila was speechless, and Altair glowered at the man for making such an accusation. Before the fear could begin to set in, she put a hand on his arm. His eyes were intense, but she remained unafraid under the heat of his gaze.

"Sometimes, he can be a little reserved. My apologies. We are looking for a suit appropriate for a dinner party. One that will go good with a bow tie."

"I know just the suit, or should I say suits." Leila didn't understand.

"Suits? There's more than one?"

"Yes. We have three for such an occasion. I just need his measurements." Altair looked from the man to her. She gave him a slight nod, indicating there was nothing to worry about. He calmed down some, but he still kept his shoulders tense.

"Stand on this, and don't move." The assassin obeyed, standing as still as a statue. The clerk took out his yellow measuring tape and started with his fitting. When he pressed the tape against his legs, Altair turned his head swiftly.

"Calm down, honey. You've been measured before," Leila casually slipped out. He ignored her, still looking straight as he scribbled things down.

"Alright. 42 inches for the pant leg, 38 for the hip, 19 for the neck, 72 for the wingspan, and 44 for the chest. Impressive measurements, if I might say," the clerk mumbled. Leila never considered the actual dimensions of anyone's body, but she did remember getting measured for a sari: 36 for the pant leg, 36 for the hip, 63 for the wingspan and 34 for the bust line. The Indian saleswoman seemed peeved, and even a little jealous after learning that herself. Leila wasn't impressed with herself. There were plenty of other voluptuous women in the world with a lot more to brag about than she.

She finally looked up at Altair. He didn't seem that filled out, but she guessed when it came to bare proportions, the numbers recorded would prove to be true. The only thing noticeable was his broad back that filled out Aasim's shirts nicely.

"Alright, I'll bring out the first so that you can try it on," the man's voice interrupted her thoughts. They were beginning to scare her. She'd never thought of a man in that way.

"You tend to...become distant often," Altair told her.

"I think a lot, is all." He left it at that. The man came back. The suit was heather gray with a silver shirt and purple and silver striped bow tie. Leila made a face, then looked to the assassin.

"Do you want to try it on?" He shook his head slightly.

"No. I don't like gray." He went back in the inventory room and returned with a midnight blue suit, a burnt orange shirt, and a midnight blue bowtie.

"What about this one?" she asked. He examined it briefly, like a prized possession and turned his gaze away once again.

"The shirt is not the right color."

"Not the right color, or you just don't like it?" He looked to her with a barely noticeable scowl. "Alright," she threw her hands up, sighing. "Maybe you'll love this last one since the two we've seen aren't your taste."

"Okay, I have one more and then you'll have to consider looking through the catalog or the Internet." They sat in silence. He came back with the last one, and Leila looked to her friend for his reaction, which was quite surprising. He seemed impressed by the glow in his honey-colored eyes. The suit was as black as a raven's feather with a stark white shirt, a silver vest, and a black and silver striped tie. Leila prayed he'd try it on and she could pay however much they wanted for it.

"Do you like this one?" she asked quietly.

"...Yes. I will try it on." In her mind, she was jumping out of her chair and doing the river dance.

"I'll leave you two alone and if you need anything let me know," the salesman said, going behind the curtain. She stood up as if to leave.

"Stay," he ordered more than he did suggest. His voice made her obey."This vest is loose." Silently, she stood up on the podium with him and he turned around. Hands trembling gently, she took the two pieces and tightened them so that the shirt didn't bag.

"There." He turned back around to face her, and she noticed his tie was off.

"Your tie," she noted, readily grabbing it to fix it. He was forced down to her level as she untied the knot. They were just a hand span away from each other's face. They were both silent still.

"How do you know how to fix this tie?" he asked softly. She focused solely on the knot.

"My brother wore ties all the time. He was a natural businessman, so he had me tie his ties because he didn't know how. And the funny thing is, he wouldn't admit it. He was stubborn, kind of like you. I think you two would have gotten along great." Altair grabbed her hand, swiftly so as to startle her, but gently so that he didn't scare her away. She thought he was angry about the comparison when it turned out he wasn't angry at all.

His eyes were serious as always, but softer than usual. Leila didn't know what it was supposed to display, but she couldn't help but think he was trying to comfort her for her loss. She finally looked up at him when she felt the tears wouldn't fall to create a dramatic movie moment in the Hamashbir.

"It's actually gotten easier to talk about him," she muttered. "That's the only way to cope with the loss of a loved one. It's three for me," she added with a wry chuckle. If they had all died at once, Leila probably never would have come out of the psychotic shell she created just after her parents' deaths. The wounds were still fresh, though.

The waterworks spontaneously made her eyes sting as she tried to blink back hot tears as she finished with his tie.

"There." She was absent-mindedly fumbling with the piece of clothing to make it fit inside the vest, but she couldn't seem to make her fingers function properly. Finally, Altair grasped her hands in his.

Sighing in defeat, she gave up, pressing her forehead against his chest ever so slightly. Just to feel a gist of his beating heart.  
_

Very emotional ending, yes. I wanted this chapter to be a groundbreaking event for the both of them, and here it is. Altair starts to understand this very complex girl and she's getting to level two of his mentality, if anyone was paying attention to the previous chapter. I wonder who will get to the final level of understanding first, but that takes years to completely know someone. I'd say two people with that depth of a relationship should get married. Only love would carry you that far, right?

I apologize for this very due update. I kept passing by the computer, thinking, "Meh," and moving along to other things. Then I realized I had to come back to my stories, so hopefully no one forgot or stopped caring about this story. Until next time!

Also, the Hamashbir is actually a department store similar to Macy's, JCPenny's, or Bloomingdale's in Jerusalem. Google is a great search engine.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter nine!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental. Any other mentions of existing products created by existing companies I also do not own.

Also: By the beginning of the eighth chapter, the formal is about a week away, so it's Friday, June 4th, 2009.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Reopened Wounds  
**

Leila wished she could have cried, but then again, she did not. No one could see her cry, see her sadness. That would mean people would pity her for her loss; she didn't need false sympathy and affection from anyone.

Finally, she pulled away, clearing her throat.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she muttered, turning away to get off of the podium and look him over.

"Leila," he said. She didn't reply, already knowing what he wanted to talk about.

"You look nice. I'll buy it."

When the cashier rung up the three thousand pound suit, Altair watched carefully as she slid her credit card. The salesman placed it in a garment bag and handed it over to Altair.

"I'm glad you found what you needed here," he said with a smile. Leila refused to return the kind gesture.

"Thank you for your help," was all she said before heading down the aisle that led to where her car was parked. He looked to Altair, who was just as puzzled as he was, but not showing it at all.

"Did something happen between you two while I was gone? Not to be nosy or anything."

"No. Thank you," he replied coolly, and then trailed behind her.

They both got inside the car, and before Leila could even get the key in the ignition, her cell phone rang. Sighing, she picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Leila, it's me; Hannah. I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure, what's happening?" She just wanted to go home and mope for a little while, and then eat and mope some more after that.

"We're going to a party at Azeez's house. His parents are throwing him a going away party. Did you and Altair want to go?" Leila looked to Altair, and he simply looked back.

"That's fine, I guess. When does it start?"

"Eight. We'll be there five minutes after if you want to come with us." She looked down at her digital watch; it read 7:53. To her knowledge, Azeez's house was not too far away.

"I think I'll drive. I'll see you guys there." With that, Leila hung up the phone, and turned on the car.

"We got invited to a party," she said with mock enthusiasm, pulling out of the parking lot and into the street.

"Are you going?"

"Yes, but not for too long. Parties never end well." Altair absorbed her words, assuming that she was a victim of one of these 'bad' parties. Of course, she'd probably reveal what happened only if he asked, which he did not feel was necessary since the past was the past.

"Then why go at all?" Even Leila didn't know the answer to that question.

"It something to keep my mind off of my family." He didn't doubt her reasoning; he'd never experienced losing a loved one- if he had any at that. The assassin didn't let the thought linger for too long.

After a few minutes of driving in the dark and soft alternative rock playing in the background, they pulled up to a winding driveway that went up the hill. The crag that sat near the curb protruded so far, she couldn't see the house.

She remembered going there once with Aasim for a soccer game. That was eight years ago. To this day, she wondered why he would take a thirteen year-old girl to a house full of video game playing, chip-munching, hormone sticks to watch Spain versus Brazil.

Back then, she had a huge crush on Azeez. There wasn't a girl in her 7th grade class that _didn't_ like his dark curly hair, trimmed goatee, and supposed Jethro-like features- and this was a description of what he looked like when he was seventeen. She could only imagine what he looked like now, in 2009.

"Alright, we're here." She hopped out the car and Altair followed her up the steep driveway. As they got closer and closer to the top, she got a refresher of what the house-or should she say mansion- looked like.

It was three stories tall, made of Spanish tile and terra cotta. The windows were French in design, and she'd forgotten the fake lion sitting at the doorstep.

When Leila screamed, Altair jumped only slightly.

"It's fake," he told her. She shrugged.

"I forgot it was there." Before she could place a knuckle on the wooden door, a tall, well-built young man swung the door open wide, letting out blinding yellow light. His sky blue eyes looked her over for a moment, apparently liking what he saw from the smirk on his lips. Leila placed her hands in front of her, trying to hide her blush.

"You look familiar; do I know you?" he asked. She avoided eye contact.

"I think so. Aasim was my brother." A warm glow filled his eyes.

"Leila? I haven't seen you in ages!" he exaggerated, placing his hand in her hair and ruffling it. This was not the Azeez she knew. He was calm and collected most of the time, she recalled, but he may have changed in eight years.

"You're Azeez, right?" she asked. He made a face.

"Azeez? No, I'm his older brother, Samuel. Azeez is upstairs showering." He finally switched his focus to her male companion. Altair sized him up. Leila could feel the battle of testosterone in the air already.

"Is this your boyfriend?"

"No, this is my friend, Altair, visiting from Spain." They shook hands.

"The soccer capital. You must be a soccer fan. Do you play?" Mentally, she rolled her eyes.

_Here we go with the soccer-fan-talk. Typical sports guy._

"I've only played once." He seemed just as surprised as Boris and Hannah when they found out.

"Impossible! Well, I guess if you're a busy man back home, you must not have a lot of time to play. Come inside; Hannah, Boris, Jorge and Mikhail are here already." They stepped in, and he closed the door behind him. The inside was definitely entirely new to her. Golden brown walls, a giant vanity mirror in the hallway, two sets of stairs spiralling up to the second and third floors, a separate living and dining room with leather furniture, and marble floors. Their house reminded her of the MTV show 'Cribs', with fish in the swimming tank in the wall, as well.

"This is...extravagant," she mused.

"My parents had a professional interior designer come through here about two years ago. It was about time we upgraded."

"Mikhail, Boris, Hannah, and Jorge are downstairs in the entertainment room." _Four_ levels? Leila understood how they could afford to live this luxuriantly- their father was the CEO of his company, and their mother was a doctor, although she didn't need to be. It was strange how she knew so much about the noble class of Jerusalem, yet not nearly as much about her own friends.

When they reached downstairs, Hannah was on Guitar Hero: Metallica, playing 'One' on what looked like Hard Mode. She seemed to be doing alright until she glanced over and saw Altair standing there, watching the TV screen.

"Oh!" she gasped, losing the 120-note streak she had right at the end of the song. She dropped the guitar in Mikhail's hands, and he got up to choose the next song as Jorge and Boris looked on.

"Hi guys," she breathed, hands on her waist. Leila had the right mind to bring it up, but she didn't want to seem jealous. Hannah knew she would come with Altair, so she on purposely wore a backless top and tight jean shorts to show off the slight curves she had.

"I thought you said five after eight," Leila noted.

"We were right down the street, so I said 'What the heck?' and here we are." Her gaze fixed on Altair; she winked at him. He raised his brows only just a little to show he was unimpressed with her wits.

'Master of Puppets' started to play, so Leila sat down at the island bar to watch from her stool. Where was everyone else?

The doorbell rang loud enough to be the firefighter alert. Apparently Azeez opened the door, because she heard at least eight pairs of feet trampling the upstairs floor. Seconds later, more feet roamed around, and then the music from upstairs got so loud they couldn't hear the game to keep the rhythm, so they turned it off.

"We should just go upstairs!" Boris yelled to Leila, giving her a hug as a greeting before going up the stairs. Everyone else followed to greet the other guests that had just arrived. Leila had seen them before in the past, but didn't remember their names. They were all proteges of the wealthy class of Jerusalem- children of doctors, lawyers, entrepreneurs, and the like. Leila wondered how often Altair ran into those kinds of people.

Where was he, anyway? She glanced over her shoulder; Hannah had taken the liberty of talking to him, smiling and placing her hand on his forearm. Each time she did so, he looked down as if making contact with his being was forbidden. Of course, she was too oblivious to see that he wasn't interested in her at all.

"Welcome, my friends!" someone announced. The conversations abruptly ended as everyone turned their attention to the stairs. Azeez had finally made his appearance. He was wearing a lavish scarlet-colored shirt, pale brown pants, and a hat that resembled a turban.

Altair suddenly had a flashback-no, he'd never seen this man before in his life. He was chasing a rotund man in similar garb through a palace. The memory suddenly jumped to a white feather stained with blood, and then it ended, his vision suddenly black with the exception of a yellow glow surrounding Azeez as he walked into the room.

The crowds parted like the Red Sea as he stood in the midst of them.

"I'm glad everyone could make it. I'm sure you all know my family, and that we are very hospitable. My parents decided to throw me a goodbye party and invite everyone I grew up with so you all can see me before I leave for London. So please, help yourselves to the food, drinks, and entertainment. There will be movies playing in the upstairs living room and video games downstairs." After that brief announcement, everyone resumed their conversations.

Azeez passed right by Altair, bumping his shoulder, and Altair's vision darkened again. He turned his head swiftly in his direction; his aura was still yellow. That couldn't be right, in this time? Something told him to pursue and kill, but he fought the urge, pinching the bridge of his nose. All of these random urges and thoughts were beginning to give him a mild head ache.

Leila saw he wasn't his usual self, so she went over to him, "Are you okay, Altair?" He played it off, looking around.

"I'm fine." Hannah made a face at the back of Leila's head, and dragged him along. Of course, he wouldn't go where he didn't want to.

"Where are we going?" he demanded.

"Somewhere where we won't be interrupted at all," she shouted back, opening the sliding door to the balcony overlooking the city. He assumed she was talking about Leila, aside from the loud music and conversations. From the beginning, he was aware that Hannah had an interest in him, but he didn't have any feelings for her.

She leaned against the balcony, revealing most of her lower back, perhaps trying to get his attention.

"Did you bring me out here to discuss something important?" he cut to the chase.

"Yes," she replied, standing erect and then resting her elbows on the railing as she looked at him. Her deep black eyes seemed to glow like sapphires in the moonlight.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know how to say this, but I like you, even though I don't know you that well."

"And?" He had already lost interest in the conversation. It was just a matter of time before he walked away.

"Leila keeps getting in the way of me getting to know you. I just thought we should be alone so we can talk." He turned his back to her.

"I'm not one for small talk. Perhaps next time you isolate me, it's something that immediately needs my attention," he snapped back, leaving her outside. Awestruck, she buried her face in her hands to muffle her sobs.

Leila decided not to follow Hannah and her quest to woo Altair into liking her; there was no need nor purpose for caring. Altair did not make any promises to her, and she only vowed to help him find a way home, which was still up in the air. She had no idea how he had gotten there in the first place, so chances were she would not be able to tell him good news about going back to 1189 any time soon. She didn't want to tell him that he had to live as a 21st century man for the rest of his life; he might not like hearing she was of no help at all. He definitely had duties as an assassin, but what about his family? His mother, father, brothers, sisters? He never mentioned any. What about a wife? At 23, he might have had someone who cared enough for him to go home to every night. But who would want to marry such an immature, temperamental, and belittling man such as him? Would she have a choice?

Sighing, she sat on the nearest empty couch, apple cider in hand.

If it weren't for Altair, she'd be at home, watching TV, eating, or playing video games until she passed out. Had her life really become that worthless in the past year? With all the money she'd ever need in her life, a comfortable house, and tons of electronics to keep her entertained, it was no wonder she never realized what a materialistic shell she'd created after her family died.

There was her Aunt May over the hill, but she was always out on house calls to farm animal owners. Her Uncle Dru lived in Marseilles, where she could go to school and enjoy a rich social life with young French students, but he had never had a 19 year-old daughter. Her other Aunt, Vesper, lived in Beverly Hills, but it would just be Jerusalem all over again.

Leila finished her drink, staring blankly at the brown carpet until a pair of Adidas entered her sight, causing her to look up. It was Azeez. He looked exactly like Samuel, just shorter.

"Hi. You're the Saffar girl, right?" Getting to her feet, she nodded.

"Yes. But my name is Leila, not 'Saffar girl'," she corrected firmly. He put his hands up, laughing softly.

"I meant no insult to you. I never knew your first name." There was a sinister glow in his eyes, and he held his shoulders rolled back with his hands in his pockets. Leila already knew where this was going.

She headed for the nearest empty space by the patio door, and he followed.

"I-I meant to come to you first because we've only seen each other once in ten years; since our fathers are business partners, I felt we should get to know each other for future liaisons." Cutting her eyes at him,"You mean date."

Nervously, he scratched the back of his neck.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe. If you want to." His fake innocence was so refreshing she had to laugh. He seemed hurt. She stopped.

"I'm sorry; I've never had anyone be so forward before."

"What do you mean? No one has ever asked you out?" His eyes were dead serious. She looked around for Altair; he was nowhere to be found. There was nothing but a mass of brown faces, smiling and laughing.

"That guy you came with, is he your escort or something, because I've never been told you were dating." His tone suddenly turned harsh and vindictive; Leila did not like it at all.

"He's just a friend."

"Yeah, right. You probably had to pay him a lot to come here with you, and even more for later."He'd changed as suddenly as the direction of the wind. She didn't know how to handle it. Her immediate reaction was to cry, yet she clenched her fists tight, waiting for this terrible nightmare to be over.

"How dare you say something so cruel?" she asked loud enough to cause the music to stop, and the voices to hush. All eyes were on them, including Altair's.

"I speak for everyone here: You're not welcome. I didn't invite you because you think you're too good for the rest of us, but yet you came because you feel you own the city. But guess what? No one cares that your Mommy, Daddy, and brother died. Aasim was cool, but you are nothing but a stuck-up, spoiled loser that needs to buy a date." Murmurs swept through the crowd. Everyone was waiting for her to do something.

Yet, she did nothing. But she did speak, barely above a whisper.

"Thank you." The smug look of satisfaction on his face was gone, replaced by bewilderment.

"What?"

"I said thank you. For reminding me of why I _hated_ people with money who are exactly like you."

Leila stormed off through the crowd. When she heard pursuing footsteps down the winding driveway, she quickened her pace, praying whoever was following would give up soon.

Finally getting to her car, her hands fumbled in her purse for the keys until the person behind her was close enough for her to swing at.

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, swiping at him. It was no use; he had either of her wrists in his hands.

"Leila, you need to calm down." It was Altair's voice. She finally listened, collapsing to the ground. Her long, wavy hair fell like a curtain in front of her face. Aside from her labored breathing, there was silence.

She got to her feet, eyes dull, limbs stiffened. He had never seen her so...defeated in the few weeks he was with her.

Instead of speaking on the matter at hand as usual, she slid behind the wheel, strapped herself in, and drove home with the assassin in the passenger seat, watching her for any sudden changes should he have to jump out the car. Nothing happened the entire duration of the drive.

When they got inside, she dropped everything, drawing the assassin's attention. Her hands were shaking as she sat on the floor, holding them palm to palm in front of her. She started mouth something, but even Altair's ultra-sensitive hearing couldn't distinguish her words.

Yet he knew tears when he saw them falling from her face and disappearing into the honey-colored carpet.  
_

Another emotional ending, yes. Everyone must think that Leila's life is over-dramatized by this point. There was a reason behind her always being alone; Altair just never asked about it. Another piece to Leila's puzzle. I hope no one hated this chapter. Took me forever to finish it.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello, readers and fans! I present you with chapter ten!

Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Khalil, Aasim, and Apollo are all strictly OCs. Any similarities to persons live or dead is strictly coincidental. Any other mentions of existing products created by existing companies I also do not own.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Ten: Assassins Are Like Onions**

After exactly five minutes, Leila stood up straight, the small amount of eyeliner she decided to wear that day staining her cheeks.

Altair merely stared as always, waiting for her to say something. Her face was eerily blank, like a sheet of paper, yet her eyes showed fatigue. And sadness.

"You shouldn't let what people say make you so upset," he told her. She glanced over him.

"It's not easy to just detach yourself from the world. Not everyone was raised as an assassin, Altair. And I'm not upset over the words they said; it's their mentality that saddens me."

"How so?"

"Their parents have raised them to hate people with more money than they do, which is only my family. They look down on the middle class and scorn anything lower. Their parents call themselves demi-gods, and their children have adopted that same mentality. I pity them for that."

"They aren't looking for pity, simply a way to exhibit their prominence in society. It was people like this that I eliminated often." Leila wondered if he was trying to cheer her up, or boost his own ego by revealing his spotless record of successful assassinations. She was too tired to even attempt at discerning him.

"I'm off to bed," she told him, heading up the stairs. After about an hour of trying to figure out how people were able to move and talk on a flat screen, the assassin decided he'd go to bed, as well.

He looked all over for the device with the Arabic numerals and English letters, but couldn't find it. Strange enough, a butterfly-shaped symbol appeared in front of his eyes, and he froze in his tracks. It burst forth with blue flashes of light, creating a knock back effect and sending him crashing to the ground.

There were voices in his head, voices that did not belong to him.

_"...be careful...costs too much for us..."_

"..._hate them? I hate myself..."_ So many voices at once. His vision blurred, and his head began to throb like crazy.

"Altair, are you alright?" Leila's voice was amplified times a hundred in his ears, but he was in too much pain to tell her to lower her voice. He felt her hands touch his chest, his neck, his face. She was much too close, but he couldn't move his hands to push her away.

She waved her hands in his face, trying to get his focus. His eyes did not shine. His lips did not move. His chest did not rise and fall. He wanted to let her know he was alright, but he was definitely _not_ alright. His brain had a mind of its own at this point- was that possible?

Leila touched his face again; it was ice cold. Altair felt his body shivering, his throat closing up. Yet, he started to sweat.

"Altair!" she cried out, shaking him. He had another wave of voices.

_"...I send you, my best man!..."_

_"...You and I, we are one..."_

_"...an evil is amongst us..."_

_"...It's time for you to go, Altair." _The last voice was that of Adha's. Suddenly, a distorted image appeared briefly, and then he closed his eyes. His heart slowed down to a crawl as everything around his body, around his mind, around his dreams, ceased to exist.

_"Why is it so hard to say?"_

_"What?"_

_"Those three simple words, Altair." He looked at her from the corner of his eye. It was hard to believe this playful woman was the Chalice._

_"My brothers and I do not use those three words in the same sentence at all." Her laugh seemed echo as if someone threw it into a large bucket full of other laughs and emptied its contents in her lungs._

_He watched as she twirled in a circle, making the hues of red in her skirt blend together. Graceful, yet deadly. Suddenly, she was next to him, removing his hood as she drew closer to him still. Those endless, black eyes ebbed and flowed like the ocean after sunset._

_Their lips met, soft and innocent._

_"Then I'll say it for the both of us," she whispered. _

_"I love you."_

The final memory of her sweet brown face just before he left for Jerusalem caused his body to awaken from its coma-like state. He felt his mind return from its abyss. His vision fizzled in slowly as techni-color dots that danced until they were situated in the right place.

He was under something heavy, perhaps a blanket to keep him warm. There was something soft supporting his body from beneath. The bed he slept in for many nights now.

Something-or should one say some_one_- sighed right next to his ear, and he pulled his arm out to remove the blanket from his torso. He could use his arms again.

Finally, he looked down, discovering that someone was resting on him. It was Leila. She was in a chair slumped over in what looked like an uncomfortable position, more and likely from falling asleep while watching over him for however long he was...There was no word for what had just happened to him.

Leila had changed clothes from what he could see.

Did she _really _care that much about him? If he was such a bothersome man, why didn't she simply let him die? He didn't need her sympathy, nor her compassion, if that was why she cared for him. He asked pity from no one.

His eyes looked out the window. There were raindrops streaking the glass, and the tree was bending to the strong gust's will. Downtown Jerusalem was still lit up like fireflies in the summer evening. Instantaneously, a streak of lightning flashed across the window, followed by loud, booming thunder that shook the glass.

The assassin was not afraid of the elements, but only wondered what caused them.

"Altair?" By the way her voice cracked, he could tell Leila had just woken up. His eyes rested on her brown face. She sat up, trying to blink away the sleepiness lingering in her body.

"You're awake," she breathed, stretching out her arms and back. The precisely cut tunic she decided to wear revealed a few inches of her belly. After such an extreme experience, how could his mind worry about something like that?

"How long was I gone?" His voice sounded different. Huskier, more mature. She got up and walked over to a nightstand to grab a glass of colored liquid. He hadn't noticed at first, but she looked wider and heavier than the day before. Now that he thought about it, her face was not as round and infantile as it used to be. It looked as if someone had taken her face and elongated it, giving it a more adult shape.

Handing him the cup, "Exactly 736 days." He almost spit the orange juice in his mouth out.

_Two whole years?_ He looked at her in disbelief.

"Two whole years have gone by?" he asked. She sighed, nodding.

"Yes. I've been here at the house everyday," she revealed quietly.

But the dream. It only lasted a few seconds. He was only unconscious for a day or two. Wasn't he? He needed to know the answer.

"How was this possible?"

"When you fell out, it appeared as if you had died. You didn't show any signs of life until I listened for your heart. It was very faint. So I took you upstairs and put you in the bed, and this is where you've been laying ever since."

Ever since? That meant he hadn't shaved, eaten, or showered in two years.

Leila had her back turned for a moment, but she didn't expect to see Altair sit up and grab her by her arms.

"I haven't done anything in two years, so what have you done?" he demanded harshly. She furrowed her brows, puzzled by his question.

"What do you mean?" He didn't like repeating himself.

"Woman, must you be so base? I haven't eaten, shaved, bathed, or done _anything_ until now. I was left to sleep in filth," he growled in accusation. Altair finally let her go, removing the covers from the rest of his body. He was in just his briefs. He looked up at her questioningly, and she looked away.

His feet were on the ground, and then he stood up, or at least attempted to.

"Altair, you can't!-" It was too late. His legs gave out underneath him, and he braced himself for the fall he was about to take. His body hit the ground with a crashing thud.

He couldn't move his legs.

"What's wrong with my legs?" he barked. She helped him sit up on the floor.

"You have stroke-like symptoms. It might be a few more weeks before you can walk again." _Weeks?_

"Impossible!" he scoffed. He was an Assassin- a Master Assassin- who was born in perfect health and groomed to be in prime condition. It wasn't until he was with her that everything started to go wrong.

"You've been in a near-death comatose state for a long time. It will take some time for you to be fully functional again. Here." She tried to help him back into the bed, but he pushed her hands out of the way.

"I don't need help," he declared.

"You can't get up that high on your own," she protested, grabbing him by his torso and pulling him up, using all or most of her strength.

"Considering you were asleep for a while, you maintained a healthy weight- or should I say you picked up a few pounds." The assassin stayed silent as he watched her struggle with his body.

Finally, she managed to get him back in his original position, but not without losing her balance. Their faces came within inches of each other, yet neither acknowledged it as she walked away.

"You need to rest some more before you try to walk."

When she returned some hours later, he was staring hard at the wall as if trying to see through it. He saw her standing there in the doorway, but didn't bother with greetings.

"I brought some food for you," she told him, placing a tray on his nightstand. There was a bowl of thin soup, some golden crackers, and cold water. He surveyed it for a moment before setting it in front of him, and shoveling it down- without making a mess, of course. She watched as his plate quickly emptied.

When he finished, he put it back under the lamp.

"It's nice to see you have a healthy appetite. Now you can go back to sleep."

"I'm not tired."

"Then just sit there and daydream about Adha, whoever she is," Leila teased, disappearing out the door again. Before he could scare the truth out of her, she was gone. How did she know about Adha? He'd never mentioned her in any of their conversations in the past. He was sure of it.

Very well. He'd just ask her in the morning.  
_

Wow, another chapter so fast. But I guess everyone's wondering what happened to Altair at the beginning of this chapter. It'll all be revealed in its own time. :) I meant for this chapter to be short because the next one will be long and drawn out, about 4-5,000 words, so it'll take longer for me to finish it. Tell me what you think of this chapter. ^_^ And thanks to those who reviewed for your support!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Altair, UbiSoft, or its characters. Leila, Aasim, and Apollo are strictly OCs.

A/N: Enjoy this SUPER DELUXE CHAPTER!

**Chapter Eleven: Friends?**

Altaïr didn't realize how tired he was until the aroma of hot food invaded his nostrils the next morning. He hadn't even felt himself fall asleep.

Leila was bringing him steaming oatmeal in a bowl and a glass of orange juice. She had changed so much physically that he thought she was a complete stranger until he saw her warm smile.

"Good morning, Altaïr." Even her voice was nearly unrecognizable. "You _were_ tired; you just didn't want me to say it." He stayed silent as he watched her hands at work.

The assassin was content with porridge without additives, yet she was pouring white flecks and milk into the bowl, mixing it around with the spoon.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Oatmeal is flavorless without sugar and milk. I know you're used to eating it plain, but you'll like it more with the works. Trust me," she assured him, placing it in his lap with a cooling pad underneath it.

His eyes studied her briefly before he picked up the spoon and put some in his mouth. It was nothing like the brown concoction he ate so often for breakfast in Masyaf. It was less grainy and dry; perhaps the milk did help with the essence of the meal.

"I don't like it," he stated. She folded her arms in front of her chest, raising a single brow.

"I saw that look on your face; you like it."

"I know what I like and what I don't like," he growled.

"Altaïr, I saw it in your eyes."

"You didn't see anything."

"Well then, you're not eating anything else until that bowl is empty." He refused to pick up the spoon, so she took it from him, and put a serving in his face.

"I guess I have to force feed you." Insulted, he grabbed her wrist and snatched the utensil away, only to point it in her direction.

"You will not force me to do anything," he told her. His eyes were fierce, as if someone had asked him to show his undergarments. The darkness in them was too much for her to handle. Leila placed her free hand on his bare shoulder.

"Alright, you win. Calm down." The vexed assassin let her go, and she took the bowl downstairs to clean it. The warm water further inflamed the formulating bruise on her wrist, but she ignored it, and returned upstairs to Altaïr's room.

"Have you come to bother me further?"

"No. I came to ask if there was something in particular that you wanted to eat. It has to be something light for a few days because your stomach might reject anything too rich." He thought for a moment.

"More soup is fine." His eyes rested on her hand, where a purplish bruise was forming just below her palm.

"Alright; I'll be back," she said, soothing her damaged wrist. Altaïr hadn't known that he'd exerted that much force when he grabbed her. Perhaps his extraordinary strength had increased, but it was illogical to think inactivity produced positive results. Or was she really that delicate? Leila was so small compared to him. She was back minutes later with a hot bowl of soup.

"I ran out of chicken noodle, so I made clam chowder. It's in a smaller bowl because I don't want you throwing up on my expensive sheets. Let me know if you want more if you think you can stomach it." The assassin watched as she placed the bowl of white food on the tray in front of him.

Before she could walk away, Altaïr had her by her arm. She looked alarmed as she awaited his voice.

"I….didn't mean to hurt you. It's been some time since I used my strength." His voice was tender, and apologetic. Leila tried not to let him notice that he was being too rough.

His hand traveled down to her bruised skin, and smoothed it over gently, slowly with his thumb in circular motions. She blushed, in too much of a shock to do anything but let him touch her.

As soon as she began to relax, he let go, staring into her eyes with a pleading shimmer. The beseeching look sent chills down her spine.

"How am I to regain use of my legs?" he asked. He didn't even want to eat.

"Well, first you need to eat. You'll need a lot of energy for the exercises you have to do." Altaïr obeyed, picking up the chowder and swallowing it in a matter of minutes. He was ready to function on his own again.

Leila had taken the time to research leg exercises the night before, so she was prepared to get him back on his feet.

"Alright. First, I need to see if your nerves can sense when I touch you." Nervously, she pulled back the covers until he was completely exposed. It was not in her heart to see him just one piece of clothing from complete nudity.

"I'll let you know now that I have no intention of enjoying this," she forewarned him. "Wait—I meant to say that I don't like looking at your body—no, that didn't sound right, either. What I meant to say is I'm not trying to get a freebie." He furrowed his brows, "Freebie?" Even he still had to adjust to his new voice.

"A freebie is when someone uses an excuse to…..y'know, touch someone in an inappropriate way," she mumbled.

"Was it so hard to say that instead?" he asked. She stared into his face quizzically.

"No. I was just trying to say it in simpler words."

"You don't have to talk down to me. I spent most of my life learning the English language." His tone sounded more like a reprimanding father than a hissing snake in this instance.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult your intelligence. I thought they always used words like 'hath', and 'doth', but that's 16th century English. I had a lot of trouble with that class," she chuckled.

"Class?"

"Oh. When I was in school, I had an Ancient Literature class. Shakespearean language was a part of it. Boy, was it a doozy."

"When were women allowed to go to school?" Leila had forgotten she was speaking to a man that lived when women were kept as simple and submissive as possible, although there were some women that lived in that time that were incredible exceptions.

"I forget when it began, but women really started standing up for themselves about 100 years ago. American women can vote at 18, but I never bothered with politics here in Palestine. You can go to the university for the rest of your life if you wanted to." Altaïr refrained from asking more questions, indicating that he was ready to begin the exercises.

She sat on the bed, and poked his calf.

"Did you feel that?"

"Yes." She poked his thigh, looking up at him. "Yes." She grabbed his foot, and a scoff escaped his lips.

"Ticklish?" she asked with a smile.

"Maybe."

"You can move your arms and hands just fine, right?" He nodded slightly. Licking her lips, "Okay. Don't get upset over what I'm about to do."

She came close to his face, lips slightly parted as her fingertips touched the skin on his chest.

"Let me know if you can't feel anything." His eyes followed her hands like a hawk would a mouse in the field. He was not used to this; he and Adha had never been so….intimate, although Leila was not trying to be.

When her hands brushed over his ribcage, he grabbed her wrists, but careful so as not to agitate the already injured one and damage the other.

Leila looked into his eyes.

"I went too far?" she questioned.

"That kind of contact is only appropriate between a man and his wife."

"But I was just—" He gave her that 'don't try to reason your way out of it' look, and she groaned.

"Fine. We'll start by sitting you on the edge of the bed so that your feet will be on the floor." She helped him assume the position before grabbing a chair and sitting down next to him.

"Try your best to lift your legs one at a time until it's completely straight out in the air." It took a moment, but his left leg made it halfway before he let it drop to the floor. He tried the right leg, and produced the same results.

"That's not bad for the first day. You might be back on your feet sooner than I realized." That's what he wanted to hear.

Altaïr kept going for two hours, working up a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Leila wiped it away with a towel she had handy, and found herself doing so every thirty minutes. He didn't seem to mind because he was so focused on trying to walk again.

When Leila bothered to look at the clock, it was almost 4 in the afternoon already.

"You've been at it so vigorously, I lost track of time," she laughed. "Just rest for at least thirty minutes, and then you can do it some more."

She got to her feet and headed downstairs. Apollo had a surprise waiting for her in the kitchen.

"Aw, Apollo!" she groaned, grabbing a roll of paper towel and floor cleaner. "Why didn't you come get me?" He whined.

"You can't blame this on me; you're almost full grown, which means you can take yourself out the doggy door to the backyard." After sopping up his urine and washing her hands thoroughly a few times, Leila cut up a grapefruit and began devouring its juicy insides. Her mother loved fresh fruit, and so did she.

A few minutes after her break, she went back upstairs, only to discover that Altaïr had fallen asleep, lying face up as if someone placed him in his coffin.

Smiling, Leila retreated to her room, suddenly in the mood to watch one of her family's home videos. The recording of their time at Venice Beach in California always warmed her heart, and that was only so because they used to watch it together all the time.

Any other 21 year-old would prefer to be out with friends, and consider watching old tapes as boring or old-fashioned. But that was what kept families together long ago—recollections of the past that fortified their future as one.

The sand was pure white and stretched on for miles in either direction. The sounds of the waves crashing against the shore were loud and clear in the video.

"Mama, look at my sand castle!"

"It's beautiful, Leila! Let's put some shells on it to make it even better. Come help, Karim."  
"I'm teaching Aasim how to play football; we'll help later." The scene suddenly changed to nightfall, and they were gathered around a fire, her mother singing gently into her hair as her father and brother threw sticks into the orange flames.

"Like the tails of time, and the never ending rhyme,

As long as the heavens are above

We share this bond of perfect love

Even when we're far apart

Distance can't destroy the love in my heart

A precious stone, refreshing like dew

All my love goes to you."

When the song ended, Leila burst into tears; even when her mother was alive, that aria made her cry. That was their melody, their bond. As long as that tape existed, Leila knew she'd never forget her heavenly voice.

"Leila smells like barf!" Aasim was still a prepubescent boy, but about a year older, intent on making her life miserable when the video camera changed to her brother's party celebration of his first soccer tournament.

Her very American cousin was there, wearing Enyce and FuBu even then. She chuckled softly.

"Some people never change," she sighed, hugging her pillow tight.

The other children running around with balloons and candy were unrecognizable as they zipped in front of the camera, giggling wildly.

Some sort of heavy ecstasy found its way into her heart, and she wished she could go back to that time when everything was innocent and enjoyable. Her life would never be the same with her parents and brother gone.

What would she do with her life now? The past two years had gone by so fast, days of inactivity, watching over Altaïr, waiting for the moment he opened his eyes. If he hadn't suddenly slipped into a coma, what would have happened then? Would he still be with her, or would he venture out on his own? Would his secret have been found out by then? What would their relationship have evolved into, if anything at all? He had a girlfriend—so it seemed—by the name of Adha that he spoke of when he was unconscious, strange enough. Why hadn't she taken him to the hospital when he stopped breathing?

Well, she had to consider the fact that he had no identification whatsoever, and they'd want his name, date of birth, his medical history, and all of that information would give reason for them to delve into business that was not their own.

However, she had to pay a doctor—roughly 200,000 pounds—to come out to her house and tell her what to do with a comatose patient and set up the appropriate monitors for his heart and brain, and the feeding tube through his veins.

He explained that he would lose a considerable amount of weight, that he would start to smell after a while, and that his hair would grow long if she didn't care to trim it bi-weekly. The amount of time he was to be 'asleep' was indefinite, and if he didn't awaken after a year, with no signs of brain activity, that she should call the morgue.

The thought of Altaïr dying was mortifying; she silently vowed to keep waiting, even after a whole year.

When year two was coming to a close, she had a fickle thought to turn everything off, but he started to mutter and whisper things. And his eyes were moving rapidly under his lids, indicating intense dreaming. She knew then that he was definitely alive.

Leila wasn't sure how she managed to pull off keeping him alive for 2 years on her own, but she did. She made sure to check his heart rate every day, keep him clean, and avoid leaking his whereabouts to the very concerned Hannah.

"_We—well, I, haven't seen Alta__ï__r in a while, so I was wondering where he was."_

"_He went back to Spain. His father fell gravely ill, so he went back to Barcelona to help his mother keep up with the house and watch the recovery process of his dad. He wanted to say goodbye to all of you, but it was so sudden." Hannah sighed into the phone; her dreams of ever seeing him again were in the toilet. Leila could tell she had feelings for the assassin already._

"_I saw how happy you were around him, Hannah. I'm sorry he didn't speak to you, at least."_

"_Yeah, I was beginning to like him. But he seemed kind of harsh. My dad is a hard-on, so I definitely won't date someone like him." Leila knew exactly how much truth there was in that statement._

If Hannah had the chance, she'd date Altaïr in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He was tall, strong, and handsome—what woman could resist a profile like that? Unfortunate for her, though, he was taken, in a way, and even if he were single, he more and likely wouldn't express interest in seeking a courtship with anyone.

When Leila looked at the clock again, it was a quarter until 6 already; Altaïr might have been awake by then, unless he took prolonged naps. She would have to ask him what life was like for him in 1189.

He was awake when she poked her head around the corner, watching as he sat himself on the edge of the bed.

"How long are you going to stand there and stare?" he asked without looking at her. She came into the room, looking sheepish with her hands behind her back.

"I was checking to see if you were awake yet. Are you ready for round two?" she asked. The assassin was already flexing his legs, considerably better than he was earlier. Maybe the stroke wasn't as bad as she thought.

"It looks like you'll be able to walk sooner than I thought." She watched quietly from her chair, noticing the muscles in his calves twitching as they worked hard to awaken from their two-year slumber.

Her mind turned to a vivid image of him running, and all of his muscles working together to make him the deadly man he was. Hours spent on training, and he probably didn't get much sleep. His master probably expected the best from him at all times, and from Altaïr's hard-headedness in the past, she could tell he would do just so, whether he was ill or dying, and through rain or shine. It was a quality his brothers hated him for, yet desired it to be their own to gain the same recognition as he.

But the woman, Adha—how could she bear his incompatible personality? Was she the only one who saw a different, much more docile, side to him? Was it because she was a woman? No, it couldn't be; Altaïr was quick to insult her and had physically injured her, although unintentional. She must have been very special to him.

"Tell me what you know about Adha," he demanded. She looked up from her trance; his eyes were burning holes through her eyes and into her skull. Leila almost had the right mind not to respond with that glare on her.

"While you were asleep, you kept saying her name. That's all I heard. I assumed that she was a lover of yours."

"Never be quick to assume." She felt as if she were talking to her father at that moment.

"Well, the way you said it sounded like you were more than friends…" she trailed off, scratching the back of her head.

"She was not a friend; I was to protect her, and that was all." His tone was precise and cold, like an icy wind in the thick of winter. He no longer wanted to talk about Adha, or anything for that matter.

"I think I'll go downstairs. I'll return in a little while," she told him. There was no point in staying and trying to make conversation that wouldn't happen.

Apollo was laid out on the couch, apparently watching an Animal Planet special on dog breeds. It was quite a comical scene.

She plopped down on the couch, and he immediately rested his head on her lap, looking up at her with wide, gray-blue eyes, whimpering softly.

There were still remains of his puppy-like youth in that ocean-like gaze. Even he seemed lonely.

Leila found it strange that three beings lived in her home, yet they all wore loneliness like a raincoat on a stormy day.

"_Leila, I told you to take out the trash for me. Mom and Dad are angry at me because they think I'm lazy. How could you forget?"_

"_Uh, maybe because it's not my chore? You need to take more responsibility, Aasim."_

"_I do! It was just this one time, and you couldn't even do one simple thing for me. But whatever…"_

"_You can't be mad at me."_

"_Yes, I can. Just admit you forgot!"_

"_No."_

"_Do you have to be so difficult all the time, Leila? Geez."_

The dream ended with her waking up, alarmed by the hand on her shoulder. It was her mother.

"Mom?" she asked in disbelief, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Age had not yet caught up with her.

"Yes, Leila. It's me." Tears in her eyes, Leila jumped into her arms, feeling her heart beat softly in her chest underneath the sweater she wore. That same honey-scented perfume laced her neck.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered, burying her face deeper into her blouse. Leila finally pulled away, suddenly questioning this person's existence. "I thought you died. I went to yours and dad's funeral. I saw your bodies, the autopsy—"

"I know. I am not alive, but I do exist. I exist through you, your breaths, your eyes, your hair, and even your voice." So this persona was not real at all, no matter how much she wanted to believe it was. They really did…

Die. Like the day she heard that her parents were dead, the news sank in as a stone would into the sea.

"I don't understand. How can I touch you, see you, smell you?"

"Your mind tells you that you are capable of doing such things."

"Since you aren't real, then there's no use in telling you what has happened."

"I know exactly what has happened. The assassin upstairs, he has to learn how to walk again after he fainted." Leila turned to her 'mother', bewildered.

"How did you know?"

"I know what you know, which includes the fact that you have lost purpose in your life." Her face seemed to glow from within.

"Ever since you, dad, and Aasim left me, I have no idea what to do. Even with all the money in the world, I am still not content."

"Money was never your concern. Companionship goes a long way with you."

"I don't have too many friends that stick close to me." The skirt of her dress was slowly turning red.

"You will learn from yourself, your experiences, and eventually find something beautiful." Her sweater was dark red, and dripping with blood. Her face was being obscured, and her voice was growing distant. Leila knew she didn't have much time.

"Wait. There's still one more thing I want to know."

"You will find your way on your own. You're just afraid of the sacrifices that lay ahead of you. _Ana behibek, _my daughter." After that, her body dissolved into a million droplets of red liquid that spiraled up and away until she could no longer see them, nor sense her mother's presence anymore. She was alone again. And in the darkness of her mind.

Leila jerked out of her sleep, breathing heavily as her eyes darted left and right, sifting through the darkness. It was long after nightfall. Apollo had found his way to his doggy bed. The TV was playing 'Maneaters'.

And Altaïr had been without food for hours.

Immediately, she got to her feet, sleepiness causing her legs to feel like noodles. She took out a tub of leftover spaghetti, and piled it onto a plate, and then threw it into the microwave. He would be very irritated for having been ignored for so long.

It finally beeped, and she grabbed a fork before rushing upstairs as fast as she could without dropping anything. The light was still on in his room. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest. How could she forget about him?

Licking her lips, she walked inside and discovered that he was sleeping face up. His breaths were loud and drawn out, indicating he was in deep slumber.

Leila exhaled softly, relieved that he was not awake to scold her for neglecting him.

"I was beginning to think you wanted to starve me." His voice made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked quietly.

"I could hear you breathing." His extra-sensitive ears were starting to irk her.

"I won't ask how you could do that because we've already established that you are an Assassin." He finally opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

"It took 2 years for you to come to that conclusion." She set the plate down on the night stand.

"I always believed it to be so, but I didn't want to seem crazy for believing it without solid proof." Sighing loudly, she sat down in the chair, brushing back her hair, staring aimlessly at the carpeted floor.

"Something's bothering you," he pointed out. Leila hated how Altaïr could read her so easily.

"You wouldn't want to be bothered with my worries," she mumbled.

"I'm confined to a bed," he stated the obvious.

"Fine," she muttered. "I felt really bad for having forgotten you after all this time. I waited every single day to wait for you to wake up, and then I forget to check on you. You could have been on the floor or had another black out and I wouldn't have known." He studied her form briefly.

"I've been without food for 3 days while on assignment." His words were supposed to be assuring, but Leila didn't feel it—or any emotions at all, for that matter. His tone was always monotonous and placid, like a robot.

"How does it feel to never have emotions, Altaïr?" she asked, looking at him as he sat up.

For once, he did seem to elicit feelings—and this one was surprise. Evidently, no one had asked him that question. It took him a moment to speak, but his voice was certain when he did.

"I'm human, just like you. I have emotions; I never show them. Feelings are a weakness for an Assassin. Any assignment could be compromised by anger, surprise, or fear. Our enemies cannot know our weak points, so we are trained to be as impassive as possible to fulfill our duties with a moment's hesitation." Leila sat on his words for a moment, thinking deeply about the meaning beneath them.

"So….your mission was compromised with Adha, wasn't it?" He gave her that infamous scowl, but she was no longer afraid of his nonverbal threats.

"Did your parents tell you that it is rude to speak on matters that do not concern you?" Although his words stung, she pressed on.

"They did. Thank you for asking. But they also told me that there shouldn't be anything to hide between friends."

"Friends?" he scoffed. That same arrogant tone had found its way into his words. Leila got up to leave.

"I don't know if _your _parents taught you any manners, but I would consider someone who takes a complete stranger in, feeds them, bathes them, and waits every single day at their bedside until they awaken from a coma to be a friend. But what do I know? I'm just a silly girl from Jerusalem." She walked away, the unfamiliar sensation of victory in her every step.

Leila had won this battle at last.

A few days had passed since their verbal joust, and neither felt the need to address what had happened. She only said good morning, good afternoon, and good night—6 words in total to him every day, and expected nothing from him in return.

Of course, Leila fed him every single day on schedule, helped him get cleaned up, just as an in-home nurse would do for a convalescent, only he was a very ambitious, young Assassin that wanted to get back on his feet.

And in the course of those few days, he did. One day, Leila was on her way upstairs to serve him lunch, and he was vanished from the bed. The sheets were neat and folded, and his leather boots were gone.

When she returned downstairs, he was coming through the door in her brother's black leather motorcycle jacket, a white T-shirt, and distressed jeans. He looked as ordinary and modern as any other man.

"You can walk?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes." Apollo came up to him, expecting a pat on the head. The assassin did so, and the husky scampered out the doggy door afterward.

Leila felt a flurry of emotions building up inside her. One was joy. Another was surprise. And another, strangely, was sadness.

"How...?" she trailed off. He put the helmet on the counter.

"I exercised my legs late into the night."

"You had such distaste for my company every day that you got to your feet on your own," she joked wryly.

"It was more of a need for independence," he chided, and then, "your presence was not a nuisance."

She looked up into his eyes, having the sensation of a heavy weight in her chest.

Finally, she had the nerve to break the trance by pointing her thumb behind her, towards the stairs.

"I left your breakfast upstairs. It's still hot." He blinked deliberately, indicating he would wait downstairs.

_I'm __so__ glad I left his food upstairs to escape that awkward moment._ Leila had never experienced that feeling before; she thought she was about to have a heart attack. Older people on TV always complained about chest pain before they went into cardiac arrest.

The eggs, bacon, and gritted corn were still steaming on the plate, and she was careful to hold it on the edges rather than the middle down the stairs.

Altaïr's gaze was fixed on the doorway; perhaps he was hungry after his ride on the motorcycle.

"Eggs, bacon, and grits. Much different from oatmeal," she cracked with a wink. He picked up the fork and began eating carefully, but at a pace that gave away the fact that he was famished.

Leila made her own plate, and sat down across from him, rubbing her shoulder with one hand, and scooping up food in the other.

Having finished a lot sooner than her, he watched as her lips covered the entire forkful of mashed corn, and came out clean. It intrigued him as to how she was able to do so. As she separated her foods from one another, he noticed that her eyes had green flecks in them, mixed in with the brown—a variation of color he'd never seen before.

"Is there something on my face, Altaïr? I've been embarrassed way too many times by my friends. They'll let me smile in people's faces with ketchup on my cheek or lettuce in my teeth." She hadn't looked up, but somehow knew he was staring at her while she ate.

"How is it that you knew I was watching you?" She smiled.

"A smart-aleck assassin taught me." He snorted, genuinely tickled.

Leila got to her feet, taking both her plate and his to the sink to be washed.

"So how does the bike ride?" she asked over the running water.

The assassin was finishing his orange juice, "Swifter than a horse," he noted. "And smoother."

When she put the last dish in the drainer, she leaned against the cabinets, looking up towards the ceiling in deep reminiscing.

"I can't even remember the last time I rode that thing," she breathed. Her hand was still massaging the joint between her arm and torso.

Aasim used to be out riding from morning until night, claiming he had to break it in and get used to its 'feel'.

He took her riding once, and it was scary. Driving in a car was one thing, but being exposed to the elements and at higher risk of death with a testosterone-pumped man hell-bent on going as fast as he could was a whole other topic. She made sure to kick him in the shin when they made it home that night.

"Then relive the experience," he suggested. She raised her right brow; what was he implying?

"I can't; my shoulder is giving me grief," she excused herself. He got to his feet, and walked over to her, eyeing her arm.

"What have you been doing to aggravate it?" he asked. Now that he was so close—and without his hood, mind you—Leila wasn't sure if she could handle him touching her without melting into human goo.

"I was moving some boxes around in the garage; one of them had an old TV in it." His hand finally touched her socket; his palm was feverish against her skin. She tried to hide the cherry red blush creeping into her brown cheeks.

"I'm guessing it was heavy. Someone your size should not try to lift more than your body weight," he counseled her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she murmured.

"Let's not argue over the obvious; you're not average size." Leila was about to protest and ramble on about what he meant by that as well, but he purposefully applied pressure to her shoulder, and it actually started to feel better.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"No." He did it again, this time with so much force, that the ball joint in her arm popped, apparently back into place. It happened so fast, she didn't have the chance to express her pain.

"How did you know what to do?" she inquired.

"There were many a time when I had to relieve similar pains." He was talking about when he was alone, on the road, after a battle.

Despite the fact that the pain was minimal and still growing smaller, he continued to massage her shoulder. Leila felt a tingling sensation in her nerves, and she began to grow sleepy. It didn't matter who it was that rubbed her down; the simple act of being pampered was a universal desire.

As soon as she began to grow accustomed to his hands at work, he pulled away. It was as if the assassin knew when he was getting too familiar.

"Come with me," he ordered more than he did suggest. Leila didn't want to say otherwise.

"Okay," she said out of fear, going for her shoes and jacket. He was grabbing the motorcycle helmet, and handing it to her as she zipped up her hoodie.

"You'll need it more than me," he said to her as he led the way to the garage. It smelled of burning oil and old grease. It had been 2 years since she last touched her first car.

"We're riding the motorcycle, aren't we?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He threw his long leg over the seat and looked at her.

Groaning, she walked over to the bike, and got on behind him. At first she was hesitant to secure herself to him, but that was the only way she could stay on the motorcycle.

"You'd better hold on," Altaïr informed her. Since he proposed that she held on to him, she did, wrapping her arms around his waist, feeling the contours of his every stomach muscle through his shirt. How he managed to maintain muscle mass after two years of no activity, she did not know.

He opened the garage with a touch of a button, and revved up the engine, causing it to roar to life. It started to shake, and she jumped, having forgotten what to expect on a motorcycle.

The assassin let go of the brake, allowing it to wheel down the driveway by itself, and then press on the gas when they were on the open road.

Once they were at a steady speed, Leila worried less about their mortality rate and took in the scenery whizzing by, the fluffy white clouds nothing more than wispy cotton balls streaking the blue sky.

Although Altaïr was an Assassin from 1189, Leila didn't feel impending danger in riding on the back of a motorcycle with him.

She didn't know where they were going, but it was nice to finally see that he had opened his eyes.  
_

Lovely ending, methinks. Sorry it took so long to update. Project after project kept popping up at school. I had some free time to finish this up, finally. This is a deluxe chapter for those who really like the story so far. I hope it's not too hectic for my readers. That ending sounds a little cheesy.

And that massage part, I had to fan myself! I'm kidding.

As for the bacon, eggs, and grits I'm pretty sure that's not a traditional Palestinian breakfast. Hummus is common there, but Leila likes American food, if no one can guess.

Reviews and criticism are crucial to becoming a better writer, so I would appreciate people's help in that matter by your thoughts about this chapter. Until next time.

Also: Just 12 more hours until Brotherhood's release!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: For those who have played Brotherhood, already, I've heard that it is awesome! I will get my copy one day…Enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve: A Moment to Acquaint**

xxxxxxxxx

Altaïr finally stopped to give the bike's engine a rest at a rest stop between Jerusalem and Hebron. He had decided to turn around and head back to Leila's house about an hour ago, so they'd be home before midnight.

As she looked up at the darkening horizon, leaned against the motorcycle, hands in her pockets, she wondered why they had gone so far. The assassin didn't tell her why he basically forced her to accompany him on his little adventure on her brother's bike.

He was busy doing nothing, staring hard at the ground in deep thought, something he'd never done before.

"Did you bring me out here to talk about something?" she finally asked after the silence was killing her.

"No," he answered right away. "Confinement behind four walls for extended periods of time can drive a person mad." Leila nodded in understanding.

"I thought you were trying to drive to Masyaf," she chuckled, kicking a dirt clod. "If so, then we drove two hours in the wrong direction."

"I'm aware of Masyaf's location. The world has changed drastically in almost a thousand years."

She cringed at the thought of being dead for a thousand years and then suddenly being thrust into a new world where nothing and no one was familiar. A polar bear in the Arctic that was captured and thrown into an enclosure with walls and plastic foliage would know when he was out of place. Altaïr was not an animal, but he was in the same situation as many.

"Adjusting to the changes must be painful." He looked to her.

"What do you mean?" Leila stood up straight, her sights on a yellow marigold in the grass.

Plucking its stem, "I mean the concept of driving, the clothes, the language, and the food. You've never seen a motorcycle in your life until two years ago, cattle weren't made for trendy jackets in 1189, people didn't use words like 'jerk', or 'stud muffin', and I'm sure you never heard someone saying, 'That was some good barbecue' when you were walking around Jerusalem," she explained, trying to put the flower behind her ear, but failing miserably at every attempt.

He approached her, taking the golden bud from her hands and placing it in her hair.

"Adaptability is effortless for a Master Assassin. Everything you just mentioned changes year after year, no matter the time you live in." She grabbed his shoulders.

"Come on, Altaïr, you're only saying that because you're _you_!" she laughed. He gently placed his hands on her waist.

"And the meaning of that is?" he asked with a dark smile. Leila felt her insides turn to mush.

"You're some kind of superhuman soccer player assassin from the past. How many people can claim that title?" she asked, moving out of his grasp.

"Not too many," he told her. Looking at him out of the corner of her eye, "Meaning one," she added.

The evening was growing cold, and the lightweight cotton zip-up she decided to wear was not providing much protection from the chilly winds.

"Why is Israel always so cold at night?" she asked aloud, throwing her hood on her head. Altaïr got back on the bike.

"The ocean winds come into the valley—" he began to explain, until Leila put her index finger on his lips.

"Some questions are rhetorical." She got on behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso.

The assassin ignored responding to the gesture, turned over the engine, and got back onto the paved road to Jerusalem.

xxxxxxxxx

"They've been gone for two hours! We could have been in and out by now."

"You have to have patience, my friend."

"You said that _two_ years ago; my patience has run out. How much longer are we going to wait? She's been in and out too many times to count." He got to his feet, and Kyle grabbed him by the sleeve. His eyes gave him a piercing warning.

"We go when I say so, understand? Or you won't go at all. Everything will fall into place. Besides, something more than we thought is going on here, Erik."

"What do you mean?"

"That man she brought home—remember him?" Erik put his hand to his chin.

"Yes. What about him?"

"He's been bedridden for two whole years, and mysteriously wakes up one day. Don't you find that the _least_ bit strange?"

"Doesn't that happen all the time? I mean, remember that one movie with Steven Segal, when his family was killed and they shot him but he woke up two years later?" Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I remember, but that was a _movie_, and this is _reality_. He suddenly appeared in the house, and in strange clothes, and now this? We have a bigger problem now. It's best to call Victor Williams before we do anything at this point. The game plan has changed drastically."

xxxxxxxxx

The street lamps guided Altaïr up the street and into the driveway of Leila's home when they finally reached Jerusalem.

The assassin turned the engine over, and they both got off the seat. She glanced down at her watch. It read 11:21 in bold green digits.

"I didn't realize it was so late," she sighed, her legs stiff as cardboard.

"Time seems to lose significance when you enjoy yourself." Leila unlocked the front door and allowed the assassin and herself inside before closing and locking the door.

"I guess it's off to bed now, although I'm not that tired."

"If you give yourself time, you'll fall asleep before you know it." They both headed up the stairs in silence, neither having more to say on the matter. It was almost the next day, and his voice sounded weary.

"Before you go, Altaïr," she told him, grabbing his forearm. In the dimly lit hallway, his face cast an ominous look of irritation. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad you finally woke up after all this time." His expression softened a little as he put a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"So am I. Go to sleep," he told her before going into his room and closing the door.

Leila retired to her own room, removing her jacket and pants. Apollo had not yet revealed himself; he was probably out on one of his midnight escapades.

When she lay down, her bare legs made contact with the cold sheets of her bed, causing her to shiver; they were much too cool.

She rolled over onto her back, her eyes on the gray ceiling. The shadows from the trees outside the window danced back and forth in the winds that sounded like lost souls drifting through the hallways.

Leila did not believe in ghosts and spirits, but her mind couldn't help but turn into wild imagination after hearing those loud, spine-chilling groans outside.

After getting to her feet, she slipped on a pair of sleeping shorts and headed across the hallway to Altaïr's room, rapping on his door lightly. When there was no answer, she opened the door slowly.

His light was out, and she could hear his breaths long and drawn out, like a dragon in a deep slumber.

Finally, she came to her senses, and paced back and forth in the hallway, smacking her forehead.

'This is a stupid idea! How old am I, eight?' she told herself.

"Did you come to bother me?" the assassin asked. Leila froze up, and almost had the right mind to scurry away to her room and close the door and act as if she weren't pacing through the hallway.

"I can't sleep." The silence made her think that he returned to dreaming.

"Neither can I." She took it as permission to enter his room, carefully making her way over to the bedside as she remembered it to be.

Her eyes wandered all over the room, observing the trees swaying back and forth.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" His tone was interrogative. Without hesitation, she got onto the bed, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. All of her experiences with the assassin were entirely new.

Undressing a grown man, living in the same house as someone she was not related or married to, and now, she was being invited to lie down with that same person. Her mother's hair would have turned white from it all, and her father would have been all shades of the rainbow in the face if he saw what she was doing, although she was fully aware nothing _risky_ would happen.

"I won't even ask how you heard me in the hallway. It must have annoyed your fellow Assassins when you were training together."

"It was on seldom occasions that they bothered to spar with me."

"Because you were almost impossible to defeat?"

"They did not appreciate consistent nosebleeds." She chuckled, imagining the disgruntled, bloodied faces of countless men.

"I can't imagine. My brother always let me win when we fought. But I guess that was only true because he was always much bigger than me."

"He didn't want to hurt you. My brothers saw our sparring sessions as a means to vent their sentiments towards me."

"You can't help it if you were better than them at most things—it's like blaming a tiger for its natural prowess."

"They simply did not believe that I would always be the best Assassin."

"I guess I would feel the same as your brothers, then. Aasim was better than me at everything—video games, sports, driving; he was even better than me at math, and he _hates_ numbers. It was so _frustrating_ how easily he could surpass me in anything he did without ever trying, but that's what made me love him even more: he made up for what I couldn't do." She lay back, remembering the stormy nights Aasim would let his prepubescent old sister in his room until the thunder died down. Of course, she always stayed there the whole night, cuddled up next to him.

"Our Master tries to teach the importance of diversity; only a few listen." His breaths were on her cheek.

"That's usually what happens." Leila turned on her side, looking into the darkness of Altaïr's face.

"Do you miss Masyaf?" she asked. He sighed loud enough to blow her hair out of her face.

"If you mean I'm having trouble getting used to your time, then no."

"I meant what I said, Altaïr. Do you miss the food, the people, the smells?"

"Not really," he replied in a tone that felt like silk on her nerves. "This time is a relief from the stench of burning homes and bodies."

"It wasn't easy seeing dead people all the time, was it?"

"When I became an Assassin, I was aware that the things I would see wouldn't be pleasant." She reached out for his shoulder in the pale moonlight.

"I'm sorry." He gingerly held her hand.

"Destroyed innocence is the consequence of man's greed."

"I know that all too well." The assassin finally let her hand go and she traced the line of his jaw with her finger.

"My parents would kill me if they saw us like this."

"They wouldn't know if we had done anything."

"I know; it's just the way this situation looks." The moon had shifted a little, giving his fierce brown eyes a gentle glow.

"If they know and trust you, then there should be no problem."

"You know how parents could be," she breathed.

"I did not live long with my parents."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"There is no need to apologize, Leila. I do not regret the relationship I had with them." Her eyes began to feel weighed down, so she closed them, slowly drifting off into sleep.

"Would visiting Masyaf make any difference to you?"

"Like you said when we initially met, it is nothing but a ruin." His voice was an echo, and only fading ever more.

"It wouldn't hurt to walk down memory lane." After that, he must not have said anything, because her thoughts fell silent as the world around her turned to darkness.

xxxxxxxxxx

She was lying there, right next to him, in his arms, sleeping without a care in the world. Her lips slightly parted, the breaths from her mouth tickled the skin on his chest. The innocence in her brows and cheeks was as delicate as the wings of a butterfly.

This was the closest they had ever been.

Two brief years of death-like unconsciousness, and they had grown ever closer in little over a week.

This girl trusted him with her life, with her most valuable possessions, her secrets.

He would not say it, but they were similar in more ways than one.

Parents separated by the distance of death, learning to survive alone and rely on one's self, and inevitable loneliness by forced isolation.

Loneliness.

He had never used that word before to describe that hollow pit he felt sometimes when he was on assignment, up late at night due to a wretched nightmare that was once an event that unfolded before his very eyes.

_She_ was the only one who forced her way into his life. They had met a few times when he was still growing out of his assassin robes every month, and that was all it took for her.

Those endless black eyes shrouded in smoky kohl, the sweet blood drop red lips that spoke his name as if it were made of gold, and the bold red scarves she wore on her head that were identical to his sash—all the familiarity made his existence less troubling.

But she was gone now, and he did not know how to reach her. Time is not a simple factor that could easily be overcome; it continued forward, and waited for no one.

Leila moved a little closer to his warmth, heaving a gentle sigh. He had almost forgotten she was there since he was so wrapped up in deep thought.

They looked nothing alike. He admitted to Adha that she was attractive, yet so was Leila, but in a different way.

Altaïr knew what Adha had to do when she was given an assignment; therefore, she had to dress and act the way she did—seductive and feline. He did not hold it against her.

Leila, however, was like a little girl, an innocent child even, to him more than anything. Her wide, dark eyes showed no experience in precarious situations, a sort of hesitation to reach out and touch the world around her. She hadn't even been kissed before she sneaked into his room that night so long ago.

The assassin rarely came into contact with striking young women of that type—they had either been wedded already, or stripped of their innocence at the hands of a rapacious man without their consent.

What he knew was the teenage girl that had dragged him home one day, not the young woman that was lying just a few inches away from his face.

After all that had happened already, the assassin wondered if she still cared about finding his way home.

That familiar hollow pit was starting to grow.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Leila awakened some time later, Altaïr had yet to leave her wondering where he went as he always did in the mornings until he mysteriously—and conveniently—reappeared in the kitchen hallway just in time for breakfast.

His golden brown eyes were watching her in her sleep, devoid of interest, anger, or any sort of lingering emotion, for that matter. They were simply open, staring, studying, bright, intimidating.

"Oh my," she whispered, covering her mouth. The skin of her cheeks and forehead started to burn and perspire simultaneously.

"What's wrong?" His voice was even more throaty and sensual in the morning.

"I don't want to offend you with my morning breath," she mumbled through her hand.

"Your breath didn't offend me while you were sleeping." Still, the girl refused to remove her hand, so he pulled it away, moving closer to her still.

Their faces were so close; Leila couldn't help but stare at his lips.

"U-um, I need to shower," she excused herself, crawling from under the blankets, across the bed, and out into the hallway, where it was much cooler—and easier to breathe. Apollo was stretched out across her bed, sleeping quietly.

Groaning softly, she grabbed a fresh towel and set of undergarments and hid herself in the bathroom, running the shower.

'What just happened?' she thought. Her heart sounded like her mother's sewing machine when the needle was threading a long strip of linen, but it would not stop. 'Was he…trying to kiss me?' The real question was: did _she_ want that?

The hot water fell into her hair, its contact with her scalp relaxing and soothing her frazzled nerves. Yet, she was shivering, her arms and shoulders baring goose bumps. Did this assassin have some sort of sickness that she contracted from being too close?

The shower proved to be of little comfort, so she turned it off and patted her body dry before slipping into her undergarments.

'It must have been my imagination,' she went back to the happening with Altaïr. 'But…he was moving closer to me. His lips…they were so close.' Closing her eyes, she nervously combed through her hair, drawing in a heavy breath.

If she believed in fate, she would have blamed it for this wicked test.

xxxxxxxxxx

Finally, I managed to get out this next chapter. It's a little conversational, I'm sorry, but I feel Leila and Altaïr should get some moments to really be face to face. I'm saving the action for the next few chapters to come. It's been a swift 2 and a half months since I last updated, so hopefully this forced hiatus I had is over. Until next time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altaïr, or any known Assassin's Creed characters mentioned within. Leila is a work of my imagination.**

**A/N: Surprise!**

**Chapter Thirteen: Flashpoint**

**xxxxxxxxx**

Breakfast was even more awkward than usual, with Leila sitting under the heated stare of the assassin as she ate her toasted croissant. There was nothing to talk about, so the silence made the situation even more uncomfortable.

When she got up, the pressure in her chest went away, but his eyes rested on her back as she put their dishes in the dishwasher. He made everything so difficult to do normally; it was as if he were waiting for her to do something wrong.

"About last night, Altaïr, I really meant what I said about Masyaf."

"The trip will be for nothing; the castle is destroyed by time."

"While that is true, it wouldn't hurt to see it again, would it?" She herself was interested to see it firsthand.

"I doubt you will stop talking about it, so it is your decision." She turned on the dishwasher and sat back at the table.

"If we're really going to do this, then I suggest we start packing right now so that we can go and return as soon as possible. There are a few small hotels nearby, a few houses, and lots of dirt," she joked. He studied her for a moment before looking away.

"If we will take your vehicle, then we will arrive there in less than a day."

"In about five hours, actually." Leila got to her feet. "I'm going upstairs to change and stuff a bag full of necessities; take your time getting ready." With that, she disappeared up the stairs.

As she went for her duffel, a knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

She had felt it before—and on many occasions. Despite the discomfort, she continued adding articles of clothing to her bag.

Apollo appeared next to her, panting softly. He whined loudly.

"Sorry, pup, but you can't come; hotels don't allow dogs, even the cute ones." The pup turned his back on her and went out the door.

When she finished, she returned downstairs and turned on the TV. An American film was playing on the international channel.

The film quality was fuzzy, and the actors she did not recognize from recent movies.

One was older, had crazy white hair and bulging eyes. His voice was hoarse and frantic whenever he spoke.

The other was much younger, perhaps in his early 20s. He was on the short side, but cute because of his childish stature.

The dialogue didn't make much sense until a van screeched to a halt on the screen, and someone who resembled her Uncle Ramone rose up from the sun roof with a machine gun. When he shot the older man, she jumped, caught off guard by the raised volume.

"Would they show such a thing live?" he asked. Leila turned around; he dropped his bag to the floor with a heavy thud.

"No, it's a movie; it's not real. Those are actors, and that gun is not real."

"But such weapons exist."

"Yes, unfortunately," her voice dropped. "Guns only make things worse; people say they are for protection, but every day, there is either an accident with a child or a gang fight or a war victim being shot. I hate it, and I hate the fact that there's nothing I can do about it."

"A lot of things that happen in this world are beyond our control. It is easy to get frustrated over complexities such as war and fighting. It's simple to _say _'no more violence', but it's not easy to do. Imperfect human nature always stands in the way of complete satisfaction. That's the way it will always be."

Her eyes followed the movie as the young man hopped in a car and sped off.

"I don't think so. Eventually, man would kill himself if it continued this way. Promise of a better life comes from God. I hold onto that dearly."

"I am not the one to criticize or correct another's thinking, so I will not expand on the topic of religion."

"It sounds like you've distanced yourself from Him."

"I never felt a connection to God in the first place."

"I could understand why, living in a time of war and death, conflict between brothers. I'm sure every widow from the Crusade, every orphan asked why He allowed their families to be taken from them. However, it is not God who took them away; it was man's greed, his lust for power. It's worse than any poison. He simply allowed it to happen, and for a sound reason, but we can't stand here all day talking about what's in my mind. We should hit the road as soon as possible." She grabbed her belongings and went into the garage. Altaïr followed.

"The weather will be nice all weekend, so we don't need to worry about jackets." They tossed their luggage in the trunk and got inside.

"Well, this is it. To Masyaf we go." The engine of the car turned over and they pulled off into the sunny afternoon.

xxxxxxxxxx

"We told him to be here over an hour ago; it's getting cold."

"He'll be here," Kyle muttered, ducking his head against the wind.

Finally, a solid black sedan pulled up to the curb, and a slight man stepped out of the car, accompanied by two muscled men with handguns.

They both grew ashen.

"I came out here last minute; my boss will not be pleased to see that I am gone from my office."

"We'll make it quick."

"Then be out with it," he hissed.

"You know the Saffar kid? She has a guy living with her, and he just appeared out of nowhere."

"So? Young people are shacking up all the time. We're interested in her assets, not her personal life."

"There's more to it; he was wearing strange white clothes, and a red sash; who wears that kind of stuff anymore?" Erik reasoned. The man in the black suit, narrowed his eyes to slits.

"Hashashin fanatics. This was an intentional waste of my time." Erik reached out for him, and the two guards went to their weapons without hesitation. He took a quick step back.

"Wait! We know something's up with this guy. He claims he's an Assassin."

At that, the suited man relaxed his shoulders.

"An Assassin? I thought we had pinned every last one of their hideouts, but I guess a few went unnoticed. Well, keep watching her movements, and especially his. Aside from your original objective, make sure nothing happens to him, or I'll have your heads given to Rikkin." He snapped his fingers and the two men withdrew their weapons and returned to the car. They sped off down the street. Kyle scraped some old gum from the sole of his boot onto the concrete.

"You forgot to tell him they were leaving for Masyaf."

"Erik, he already thinks of us as pawns; do you _want_ to give him a reason to knock us off the board?"

xxxxxxxxxx

The sun finally moved away from Leila's face and shifted down to her arms and chest when they finally got to an area she did not recognize.

It was a lush valley covered in green hills and plains. There were houses scattered a few hundred feet apart, and a small farm on the opposite side of the road.

They stopped at a red light, and she examined the sign pinned in the dirt.

"98 more miles to Masyaf," she yawned. He watched as she ran a hand through her dark hair. "Let's stop to get more gas, just in case there's a long stretch between here and the next station." She pulled the car in and parked at a nozzle. Altaïr got out as well.

"I will do it." Her brows met with her hair line.

"You know how?"

"Yes." She didn't refuse the help, and looked on as he removed the tank cover, pressed the button for the gas and began pumping.

"I won't say I'm impressed; you probably watched a movie and figured it out in seconds." She folded her arms across her chest. He didn't quell her suspicions, but merely remained silent as he replaced the pump, closed the tank and got into the driver's seat.

"Hey!" she droned.

"I'll drive the remainder of the way." With a hunch of her shoulders, she got into the passenger's seat and strapped in.

"Thanks, Altaïr." Their eyes met for a moment, and then he pulled back onto the long, seemingly endless road. After that, with the music off, the car was silent.

Leila dropped the seat back and closed her eyes.

He came to a slow halt at the sight of an elderly man crossing the road with a drove of cattle. His eyes meandered to his traveling companion, who was already in a deep sleep.

She insisted that they travel to Masyaf together. It was understandable, since they had been holed up in her house for two years.

The cows finally cleared, and he pulled off.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Leila." He grabbed her shoulder, and she stirred awake.

"Are we here?" she asked, clearing her throat.

"Yes. There are three hotels in the same area; whatever quality they possess is flexible, though I prefer if it did not resemble a stable." She looked at the three rectangular buildings: a New Basman, Hamah Tower Hotel, and Cairo Hotel. All three were well-reviewed on the Internet.

"I don't know. Perhaps the Hamah Tower hotel; they have nice pools." He drove into its parking lot and let her out.

"I'll go ask for two rooms with a connecting door and then I'll be out to get my stuff." She closed the door and headed inside. He waited patiently, watching her body language with the hotel clerk.

They exchanged greetings, and then the young woman focused on the glowing screen in front of her. A moment after that, Leila gave her a small rectangle.

A dog barked, and he looked the other way for a moment as two teenage boys threw a small green object towards the dog. It bounced off the ground, and he furrowed his brows—it was an odd, nimble object.

When he returned to Leila, it appeared that they had what they desired, and she was given two white squares.

Leila returned to the car.

"They ran out of adjoining rooms. All that's left are single-bed rooms with king-sized mattresses."

"And you agreed to use two?"

"Yes. But I figured this could be our backup if the other two don't have exactly what we need." She got back in the car, and he drove to the Basman.

The desk clerk didn't have any rooms left at all.

They drove to the Cairo hotel; they had single rooms with twin beds.

"What do you want to do, Altaïr? One room with 2 beds, or two separate rooms with separate beds?"

"Separate rooms sound best." He pulled back into the Hamah Towers parking lot and removed his bag from the trunk.

They entered the lobby, and the desk clerk looked from Leila to Altaïr. Her focus stayed on him for quite some time as they waited for the elevator.

Her white shirt showed all the contours of her body, and her skirt was like a second skin.

'She's acting like she's never seen a handsome man before,' she thought, sighing lightly.

The elevator finally came, and they shuffled inside.

"We will probably be able to look at it today for a little while. They won't allow us to stay past nightfall." He said nothing.

They finally reached their floor, and their rooms were on the right.

"Here's your card; we'll meet at the elevator in twenty minutes?" she suggested.

"Five." He entered his room and she entered hers.

The air conditioning was on, and the air smelled of antibacterial spray. The sheets were freshly washed and neatly folded. The tropical color scheme was soothing, and the flat-screen TV was just begging to be turned on. However, they were not there to do something she could very well do at home.

After dropping her bag on the bed, she returned to the hall, where Altaïr stood waiting. Obviously, the leather jacket he decided to wear was too stifling for the muggy weather outside. His solid gray T-shirt hugged his every muscle, and she looked away.

"Back down the elevator," she hummed, stepping inside.

When they arrived, there was only one other person being waited on; now, there were two families waiting in the lobby. The desk attendant wasn't too busy to steal a glance in the assassin's direction.

The shocking change in temperature stirred a mild headache, but she ignored it as they climbed back inside the car.

"Do you remember where it is?" she asked.

"Yes. It's hidden by a mountain pass near a river." They began driving deeper into Hamah, passing by rows of storefronts until it drastically transformed into a landscape paralleled by mountains. They were getting close.

"Perhaps we should walk from this point on." He turned the engine over and they got out.

The road slowly turned into an incline, and narrowed between two stone pillars. They continued through it and passed by a river that came from the preceding valley.

"The water is beautiful," she remarked. The desire to touch it overwhelmed her, but he did not look like he wanted to stop for any reason at all.

A hill lay before them, and he paused.

"What is it?" she asked, putting a hand on his forearm.

"It's exactly the same." He pulled out of her grasp, and they headed further inside.

His eyes did not fall on the familiar white monolith that loomed high into the clouds.

The path narrowed as the hill crawled up, and there it was—or at least, all that was left of it.

There was no wooden gate, no blood red flags, the sound of clashing swords, or the smart aleck remarks of Abbas. It was desolate, abandoned, and dead.

"I heard it reached the heavens in its better days." She looked to him.

"Yes. It was immense." She continued forward, looking at the rushing water far below them.

Suddenly, he grabbed her and slammed her into the nearest rock.

"Altaïr!" she exclaimed. He covered her mouth with his hand. And: "Shh." She strained her ears. There were voices floating downwind. They didn't sound friendly.

"There's someone else here." His voice was a gentle growl. "Stay quiet and keep hidden." He inched forward, his eyes darting left and right.

Leila closed her eyes; she had forgotten to breathe. In that moment's time, the assassin had disappeared.

She searched everywhere for him, trying her best not to move. The voices had softened.

Licking her lips, she pressed forward, annoyed with her own pounding heart that wouldn't stop drumming in her head.

Who would even be bothered with a thousand year-old ruin? There was nothing special about it.

So far, there were no men in sight, and Altaïr was still nowhere to be seen.

Inside the castle, the stones were overgrown with grass and most of the walls had fallen. Many people had lived there before—and died, as well.

The carvings in the walls made it clear that Assassins lived there long ago.

What looked like an arena lay in the middle of the courtyard, and the stairs wound up into the bowels of the fortress.

There weren't any voices coming from inside, so she went in in hopes of finding somewhere to hide—and find Altaïr.

The inside smelled like overgrown foliage, which was overtaking the walls and floors. Vines crawled up the crumbling stairs and birds roosted in the gaps where support beams should have been in the corners of the room.

She wished she remembered to bring her camera; this was a trip she'd never forget.

It was the only vacation she had taken since her parents' deaths.

A sickening pang wracked her body as she stood there, memories flooding her eyes with tears.

"Hey!" someone shouted. Leila turned around.

A man wearing sunglasses and a forest green army jumpsuit had his gun pointed at her.

All the moisture left her throat and traveled to her face. Her heart stopped beating, and her brain could not formulate anything that resembled a response.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was laced with an Italian accent, and she came back to her senses.

"I came to see the ruins." His grip on the gun relaxed a little.

"Tourists aren't allowed up here for the entire week."

"Why?" He furrowed his brows.

"Because it's none of your business, that's why. Now leave, or I'll make you," he growled in impatience. She said nothing more, but instead of heeding his warning, she took off up the stairs as fast as she could in moccasins.

"Get back here!" he shouted. She paused to look back, and he was on his way up the stairs at an alarming rate.

Her instinct to keep running burned in her mind, and Leila kept going higher and higher until the stairs ended. His footsteps had slowed down, but she did not stop to look again.

The last level of the remaining castle was virtually intact, and all the doors were closed. Carefully, she opened the last door on the right and closed it behind her, putting her ear against the wooden divider.

His footsteps had ceased altogether.

Leila was bewildered, until she heard something moving around behind her, and her heart fell into her shoes.

"Who are you?"

xxxxxxxxxx

Sorry it took so long for me to update. I had to squash a dilemma I had concerning this chapter. I can't say what it was, or it'll spoil everything. The surprise I put in the Author's Note was for the action you read at the end of this chapter. Leila has never been in a dangerous situation like so before. Everyone's wondering where Altaïr is, huh? So is Leila. Bye!

History:

Masyaf is located in Hamah, the neighboring country of Israel. The drive from Jerusalem to Masyaf is about 200 miles, equivalent to driving from Modesto, CA to Bakersfield, CA, which is just as long and boring.

The castle in Masyaf was and is very real, but the game version looks nothing like it. The real version is surrounded by trees and plains, while the in-game version is near a river and hidden by mountains. I guess it was for dramatic appeal.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altaïr, or any known Assassin's Creed characters mentioned within. Leila is a work of my imagination.**

**A/N: Surprise!**

**Chapter Fourteen: Flashpoint, part II**

**A/N: DELUXE! ^^**

**xxxxxxxxx**

Leila did not refuse to speak; she _couldn't_. His voice was so harsh and demanding, it scared her into silence.

"I will not ask again, woman." A chord of recognition overcame her, and she turned around. The shadow of his hood hid his features from view, but it was him without a doubt. He was lying on his bed, his arm wrapped in bandages.

"Altaïr, it's me—Leila?" she laughed uneasily. He did not seem to remember her.

"I do not recall a woman by the name of Leila." She chuckled.  
"I thought it was impossible for you to joke, but I guess I was wrong." She sat on the edge of his bed, and he stared daggers at her.

"This is no game, woman. Have you wandered in from the streets?" This ruse was starting to become less and less humorous.

"I'm not crazy, Altaïr. We came here together, from Jerusalem?" He looked at her sideways.

"I returned from Jerusalem alone. You followed me here."

"No, we _drove_ here—together!" she exclaimed.

"Drove?" He seemed confused. Leila glanced over his arm.

"What happened here?" she asked. She held it carefully, running her hand over the pinkish spot.

"A swordfight." Her eyes burned into his.

"A swordfight? The man who chased me had a gun, but I'm glad you weren't seriously injured. I was worried about you," her voice dropped. He sat up; his face was indiscernible.

"I don't need your concern, or your feelings. I don't even know who you are. If you were a man, you would not be standing right now." His words were like ice cold winds against her face.

She let a few tears fall from her face, and then she looked away in embarrassment.

"I don't know why you're being so mean, but I'll be waiting at the car when you calm down." Before he could grab her, she took off out the door and down the hallway.

The man with the gun could catch her, and she wouldn't have cared. Strange enough, he had not appeared at the foot of the stairs, nor caught her by surprise from around any of the corners in the hall.

When she got to the stairs, there was a man in a black robe standing at the window.

Her surprised gasp caused him to turn around, and when he did, she screamed—his right eye was milky white.

He shouted something in a language she couldn't understand, but before he even moved an inch, she ran down the next flight of stairs, past an older man in white, past two men in grey hoods and to the outside. She paused, barely able to catch her breath.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

The walls of the castle stood over twenty feet high, and the towers loomed into the clouds. Swords clashed and reverberated through the air, and there were men everywhere—on the wall, at the gate, in the ring. And another reached out to touch her.

"What wrong?" he asked in broken English. His eyes were kind, but she did not pay attention.

"Get away!" she hissed. He furrowed his brows and snatched her by her wrist. She screamed again, her heart beating a thousand times a second, her blood rushing through her veins.

Before she knew it, she was surrounded by at least a dozen of them, all of them dressed in gray, their features hidden by stone-colored scarves.

Their voices made her stomach churn, and then her vision blurred. She lost her footing, and the man let her fall to the cobblestone floor.

xxxxxxxxxx

Pity was never one of his favorite sentiments. Neither was sympathy, empathy, compassion or mercy. Love…..it had its place.

His enemies showed no mercy to the weak, the vulnerable, the ignorant, and how he hated them so. But how could he, when they and he were just alike?

No, he reasoned, they were not alike. He fought to save people; they fought to control and enslave.

If he were like them, he would not have been watching over the girl who had stumbled into his room that morning. He felt he had the right to act as he saw fit, considering she interrupted his rest from a very tiresome mission.

He stared at her the way a person did when they wanted to figure out the meaning to a sculpted piece of art.

Her clothes were very unusual, and not what he would consider customary for women in Syria.

But what bothered him more, however, was the fact that she knew his name, and recognized his face. He did not recall meeting a woman in Jerusalem or creating their assumed traveling arrangements.

She stirred a little, moving her head as if she were trying to sit up. The muscles in his arms coiled.

Her eyelids fluttered a little before they opened completely. Upon focusing on his scowl, she gathered her body to the corner of the bed, suddenly fully awake and alert.

"You said you didn't want me around."

"It's not my choice."

"I can't believe I couldn't tell that you weren't Altaïr."

"He most certainly _is_ my best student," an older, sharper voice interrupted. She turned her attention to the shadow standing near the door. It was the man in the black robes. And: "I'd be interested to know exactly how you came to know his name." His tone was ominous, and his glare was hotter than a blazing fire.

She licked her lips.

"I found him in a forest, unconscious. I dragged him home, and we've been living together in my house in Jerusalem ever since. I didn't believe him when he said he was an assassin." The chilled atmosphere in the room seemed to turn to ice when she said the word 'assassin'.

He gave Altaïr a cautionary look, which he in turn gave to her.

"Is this true?"

"She's crazy; I've never met this woman." Leila ignored him.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Leila Atiya Saffar. We are still in Masyaf, am I correct?"

"Yes." The question was bittersweet in its response, but she had to know.

"What year is it?" she asked.

"Eleven hundred and ninety." The words were icing on the cake, and the sinking feeling in her gut had just sunk even deeper.

"It will sound crazy, even ludicrous, but I am not from eleven ninety; I'm from two thousand eleven." They both stared at her wide-eyed, and she grew uncomfortable.

'I knew they were going to think I was crazy. Well, I know that I will be sent into a completely different world where no one knows me and eventually be killed by some road bandits or spend my life as a wanderer,' she thought hopelessly.

"Are you deciding whether you'll throw me out or kill me?" she asked.

The question was so uncanny, the older man laughed.

"No, my girl. It is…difficult to believe that time travel is possible, let alone that two thousand and eleven will even exist. Do you have any proof of that time?"

She hurriedly reached into her pockets, retrieving an American nickel and handing it to him. The other Assassin did not move to look for himself.

"2010; interesting," he said aloud. "Such intricate detail." She handed him her cell phone. His brows rose at the sleek, silver object.

"What is the purpose of this device?"

"It allows you to speak to someone else that's far away without using written letters," she explained. Altaïr had been watching her the entire time.

"This is most definitely not like anything I've seen before." The room grew eerily quiet as he pondered for a moment. "I will consider this deeply in my study; Altaïr, supply her with more appropriate clothing; her current wardrobe is sure to draw attention." He went out the door, and they were alone again.

He continued to stare at her, and she looked down at her outfit: brown moccasins, khaki pants, and a solid gray polo.

"A little strange, huh?" she joked. His eyes rolled in the darkness of his hood, "More than a little. Stay here, and do not touch anything." His tone sounded like her father's.

She moved over to the window, taking in the air. A thousand year's difference was a drastic change from heavy, polluted vapor to light, crisp breezes that did not carry a hint of gasoline or chemicals.

Even the clouds seem whiter, their edges a silvery blue. The river far below was clear to the bottom, and she could see the fish darting around frantically.

"Here." As soon as she turned around, a pile of clothes landed in her arms. They were all either grey or brown.

"Don't you have anything brighter?" she asked. 'I'll look like a rock in these clothes.' He glowered at her.

"Forgive me if our fashion is a little dull, woman. You will have to make do with those until you find something more suitable to your taste." Sighing, she leaned against the wall, taking off her moccasins one by one. Then, she started to unbutton her top until she noticed a pair of watchful eyes lingering on her form.

"It's impolite to stare, Altaïr." He said nothing as he turned around.

"I have to make sure that you do not run off." She folded her shirt and set it on the windowsill.

"Believe me, I have nowhere to go." Finally, she removed her pants and folded them neatly as well, stepping back into her shoes afterward.

"Done." The assassin turned around, his left brow slightly higher than the other. "I know I look like I'd be in a Bible play, but I don't know where this thing goes." She pointed to the long, narrow red material on her head.

"It's a sash." Leila nodded and was quick to tie it around her waist. She stood patiently waiting for his instruction.

"I have some matters to attend to; do not leave this room." He slammed the door shut, and she jumped.

'And I thought the other Altaïr was a jerk.'

xxxxxxxxxx

The castle was just as he remembered it—with the exception of the walls worn down by time and the elements. The dummies made of straw were long gone, and the sparring ring was longer defined as a perfect circle.

Vines grew over and in between the stones, pushing a few out of their place as nature was let rule. Flowers blossomed where the cistern once sat and birds had taken roost on the ledges of the borders of the fortress. It had become a sanctuary, a sleeping giant that laid to rest when all human life departed.

The men who were patrolling the castle were definitely looking for something—something he was not aware of. To the naked eye, there was nothing worth taking on the surface; he would have to wait and listen through their conversations for clues.

Another armed man rounded the corner that led to the dining hall of the stronghold, talking through a rectangular, black device that hummed like a honey bee.

"There's nothing over here; I don't know what it is they're looking for, but I'm not seeing _anything_," he emphasized. His accent was thick, but he could easily decipher the words.

"Well keep looking; the satellite detected significant levels of earth metals in that area. If we don't come back with something, it's _my_ head, not yours. And if I die, I'll kill you. _Keep_ looking." He groaned, cursing under his breath. His back was turned to him.

Silent as the wind dancing over the blades of grass, he moved in. He grabbed the man, bent his arm to the breaking point, and smothered his breaths until he passed out with a sigh.

Inside the castle courtyard, a scene unfolded before his eyes.

A Novice was blindly swinging his sword through the air, screaming like a madman. There were several onlookers, one of them being the boy's father—and mentor. Altaïr had decided to step into the ring and teach the boy a lesson.

With one swift stab of his wooden sword, Ali fell to the dirt, gasping for air. He could tell his mentor would not be pleased, but he took the heat of his glare and turned it into reason for celebrating yet another victory.

Al Mualim was watching from the door, his milky white eye unmoving and solid like the moon in the night sky. When their eyes met, his Master turned returned inside.

"Pretty soon, no one will want to compete with Altaïr. He defeats everyone that sets foot in that ring with one or two fancy tricks," one of his brothers threw his hand at him.

"His skill is unmatched; the Master will certainly appoint him as a Master Assassin soon, and he's not even twenty yet."

"Malik is skilled as well, but they have never fought. I wonder who would win." At mention of Malik, he turned his attention to the crowd and immediately noticed his counterpart that was not much older than he. His eyes were dark and piercing, and his mouth was always fixed in a tight line. A man who met him at every mark.

They both knew what would happen if they fought, and for that reason, they did not. Not until one stormy night when all were fast asleep in the confines of their chambers.

Malik wanted to know. And so they quarreled, drawing blood, sweat—and phantom pains that erupted when they clashed.

When the fight was over, one stood tall and defiant against the downpour, and the other on his back, looking up at the abyss in the heavens. The abyss of realization, of anger, of hurt—and of dissonance.

Altaïr's memory finally ended, and he returned the moment at hand. There were no signs of any other armed men in the area, so he continued inside, caution in his every step.

The interior of the castle resembled a hollowed out shell, bereft of furniture and human life. There were many days he was greeted while traveling through the same hallway he was standing in.

He walked further down the hall and stopped at a door familiar to his eyes. His Master rested in that room.

Just as he was to step inside and survey the damage that time had caused, an object hard and blunt made struck the back of his head, causing his vision to explode into a million red dots and quickly fade to black before he realized he was falling to the floor.

xxxxxxxxxx

Altaïr did not know why Malik needed to bother him so often. It was no longer any use to make Kadar seem to be the one aiming for his attention as a diversion for the true purpose of his being summoned.

He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, the light of afternoon fixed on his scowl.

"I can no longer count the amount of times you've requested my presence, Malik."

"The Master asked that we try our best to cooperate; he was gracious enough to pardon us for disobeying him last night."

"He meant for us to work together when an assassination is needed to be done. What is the purpose of this meeting, so I can take my leave?" he growled. His dark eyes threw daggers at his form.

"The Master has informed me of a Templar that is attacking our informants in Beirut. He kidnaps them, rapes them, and leaves them in brothels with no recollection of what happened until he is long gone." The Master Assassin seemed interested enough.

"How do we know that the attacker is a Templar?"

"What man would make it a point to target only women we've assigned to Beirut? There are plenty of other women in the city for him to prey on, but he decides to defile ours; it is a sign of disrespect—a taunt even."

"Then we shall reply soon."

"Not too soon, Altaïr. He is aware we are watching his movements. Our methods of eliminating him cannot be obvious. Go to your study and try to formulate a plan that does not involve anything ostentatious. The come back to me so we can discuss it thoroughly. Don't spend too much time with your new roommate." His fists clenched a little, but he kept silent and left the room.

When he returned to his room, he found the girl singing softly on the windowsill until she heard the door slam. Leila fell silent and merely sat, staring at him. He sat in his chair a moment before looking up and glaring at her.

She looked away, back towards the peerless clouds and sky.

_How am I gonna get out of here? I just opened a door and here I am, in 1190. For now, I guess I better just stay out of Altaïr's way._

"I haven't done anything," she told him.

"Why is it that you claim to know me?" he asked abruptly.

"I do know you, and the other you knows me, too."

"There's two of me?" he asked without the least bit of skepticism.

"Yes, even though I don't know how that's possible. But we have played games together, watched TV, went to a party, and you nearly killed both of us in my car," she laughed. "I remember it all, even though you were always so serious."

"Were we lovers?" he asked. The question made her heart beat fast and hard.

"No," she replied firmly. "We had become friends, even though you still don't show any of your emotions. I think that's one thing that will never change about you." Silence fell between them and she cleared her throat, bringing her legs in from the cool valley gusts.

"I should tell you—even though I'm going to have to tell you again, whenever I get back to 2011—that when you were unconscious, I waited by your bedside every day, waiting for you to wake up. I worried for your life, every minute you slept." A tear fell from her cheek, and she laughed at the tickling sensation on her chin. "I know it doesn't mean anything to you; you probably think I'm even crazier than you thought before."

She looked up, and saw something dancing in his bright eyes, like a playful wind in autumn.

Was it pity? Recognition? Acceptance? Leila was afraid to ask and make the moment fade as quickly as it had come into fruition.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Altaïr awakened, he had a terrible headache. His skull felt as if it had been bashed in, but all that was visible proof of his being attacked was caked blood in his scalp.

It itched something terrible, but his wrists were bound by rope and every time he moved, it cut even deeper into his skin.

"You broke my friend's arm." He turned his attention to the shadow looming over his head. "Your little girlfriend disappeared. She's around here somewhere. Cute little female; who knows what I'll do when I catch her?" The assassin saw the hunger in his eyes—hunger for flesh.

"If you don't release me now, I'll make sure you die slowly. And painfully." He snorted, slapping the open wound on his head. If only he had stayed that close a few seconds more.

"Please. No one can break free from rope that thick. So those threats are kinda useless. Just sit there and shut up." His hip buzzed and whirred, and then he put the black object to his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Have you found it yet?"

"We think so; Jacque's found a well in the garden. There's a heavy slab over it, so we have to get a few more guys to help us move it."

"Good. Vidic is getting restless. Make it fast." With the man's back turned, Altaïr wished he had never parted with his blades at that point. Then he could free himself, torture the imbecile before him, and then go find Leila, wherever she might be.

xxxxxxxxxx

Leila didn't know how long Altaïr stood there, staring at her like a science specimen.

"It is clear we have met, but I am not the person you are looking for. He exists elsewhere—in a time I do not know of, nor can I even imagine. I don't know how you arrived, and I don't know how you will return. For now, you must stay here."

"In this room?" she asked.

"It would be better to keep you where I could see you, but it's neither just, nor reasonable to confine you to one room. Come with me." He opened the door and she followed him outside, hoping that he was taking her to the kitchen.

The hallways were desolate and eerie, as if no one had traveled through them in centuries. There weren't any voices, or any men in gray disappearing in and out of rooms.

When Leila trained her eyes to her front, Altaïr was gone. She halted in her tracks and looked around. Nothing was present but the odd feeling that she had been abandoned.

Strange enough, she felt lighter as well, and when she looked down, the robes she had been given were gone, replaced with her own clothes.

Quietly, she continued down the first flight of stairs, looking for someone—anyone. No one was there. Vines were growing down through the windows, and the stone of the wall was worn away, replaced with spider webs.

Down the next flight of stairs, she found herself on the same level as the Master's desk—or at least where it used to be. The bookshelves had disappeared as well.

Masyaf was empty, which only meant one thing.

"Leila," someone whispered. She turned her head this way and that, her brows furrowed.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest; that man with the gun could've been anywhere.

"Leila," the voice was louder. Finally, she noticed Altaïr sitting on the ground with his arms tied behind his back. He had blood on his shirt and in his hair.

Leila would have rushed to his aid, but he shook his head slowly, and directed his eyes to the area behind him.

She knew he wanted her to hide and then run for help, but that would not suffice the sense of urgency in her mind.

Her feet carried her to him, getting down on one knee to untie the rope as silently as she could. He gritted his teeth every time the rope rubbed harshly against his flesh.

She managed to get one finger underneath the knot, and would have set him free if a cold strip of metal wasn't pressed against her head, his finger causing it to click.

"One more move, and you're dead." He grabbed her by the arm and slammed her against the wall, making her head hit the uneven side of a misplaced stone. With her disoriented, he was free to tie her wrists and confine her to the same pillar her friend was fixed to.

"Man, you are one fine piece of tail. He's lucky to have you every night." Her cheeks flushed red. He teased her with a chilled laugh.

"No need to get embarrassed. I'm sure you aren't ashamed when you turn out the lights. Maybe when we get back to base, I'll wait until night time, and I'll just…." He dragged out the last sound, his pointing finger dancing on the skin of her neck. "_Feel_ my way around." She spit in his face, and he wiped it away.

"We can play dirty if you want to, but maybe later." With one swift movement, he backhanded her across the face, her cheek stinging and red. Altaïr was furious, yet powerless to do anything.

"I bet it's driving you crazy to see your girl get slapped around. Too bad." He looked over at Leila, who was crying softly.

The sound of booted feet drew the man's attention.

"It's about time you guys arrived. That well needs to be opened up fast. Phil hates waiting." Every single man out of the dozen stared down at them, their faces placid and emotionless, like robots. When they had finally filed out into the garden, Leila turned to Altaïr.

"What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know," he mumbled.

"We need to think of something before they come back. We can't stay here. They're gonna take us away. What if they kill us?"

"They won't. They obviously think we're visitors, not spies, so our chances of being released are greater."

"But I don't even want to give him the chance to get near me again. Do you know what he wants to do to me?" she shouted. He had kept his cool up until that point.

"Leila, I cannot focus with you yelling, so please shut up," he hissed.

Her jaw dropped slightly, and then she looked away, obviously hurt by his strong words.

Outside, there was cheering and applause.

"The earth metal signals are going through the roof. The satellite sure as heck did pick something up."

"Let's get someone down there before it gets late. Jacque, grab a flashlight." It was silent for a few minutes.

"I've found it!"

"It's small, but it's heavy. What is it? Take it inside." They all returned and filled the main hallway, admiring the heavy round object in the man's hands. Leila and Altaïr quietly looked on.

"It looks like some kind of ball or orb or something. There's strange writing on it."

"Let me see." One reached for it and he pulled it out of his grasp.

"Wait," he ordered.

"Jacque, hand it over," another growled.

"I said wait!" Soon, they all began to protest and shout, and soon the hall was full of angered voices and masses of bodies being hurled against one another.

"It's mine!" Suddenly a fight broke out, and some were being trampled as they all struggled to obtain the device.

Their green uniforms were swiftly tainted with red, and bodies began to fall to the floor. One man cried out in gurgling agony, and Leila looked away as he clenched at his throat with a bloody hand.

Her pants and shirt dampened from the blood of others, and eventually, no one was left standing.

When she returned to the scene, red flooded her vision. It was a soup of torn, mangled bodies surrounding a single round ball that seemed to stand out amongst the bloody surroundings.

The metallic smell overwhelmed her sense of smell, and her vision blurred.

Very soon, it all faded to black—a color she did not associate with slaughter.

xxxxxxxxxx

Well….I'm assuming no one expected this ending. It started off as an innocent trip to relive Altaïr's memories, and then this….massacre happens. I had no idea I'd end up writing this scene at all. I had something else entirely in mind for the end of this chapter, but I guess this works, too.

Sorry for the loooong delay. By the way, all of the elements in this chapter will be explained soon. I promise everything is going to fit together in the end.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Altaïr, or any known Assassin's Creed characters mentioned within. Leila is a work of my imagination.**

**A/N: I guess you can expect more scenes like the last bit in chapter 14—but less bloody. Sorry if this chapter is a little short.**

**Chapter Fifteen: Serenity**

When Leila finally came to, she was resting against the same pillar she had been tied to—or at least it seemed to be, with the exception of it being outside. The stench of death had been far removed from her, so the urge to vomit had subsided.

The sun was starting to set, giving the clouds orange-purple undersides. She thought they were beautiful.

"Now that you're awake, we can leave," he told her. Silently, she got to her feet. Her head began to swim, and she stood in place until her body adjusted.

Their walk down the hill back to the car occurred in silence; Leila could feel his lingering gaze on the side of her face every few steps they took.

She drove back, her vision blurred every time they halted at a red light. When they walked into the lobby, a young married couple lingering around the counter did a double take at their clothes as they waited on the elevator. The flirty desk clerk had turned pale when she saw the dried blood on Altaïr's scalp.

A few teens had thought twice about joining them on the elevator.

Leila separated from Altaïr without a word or gesture and slipped into the cold, dark confines of her room. There was so much to say, yet she could not say a single word.

Crickets were chirping at a low frequency just outside the window, and the air in the room was stuffy and uncomfortable, as if someone had turned on the heat. But that's how all late evenings were in the Middle East.

Her shirt stuck to her chest as if adhered to her skin, but that adhesive was not like any kind of glue she'd used in the past.

The dark red liquid was starting to smell; her clothes would have to be thrown away.

Sighing, Leila closed the door to the bathroom, undressed quickly, and turned on the hot water of the shower until it burned her skin. She wanted to be sure she was still alive, or that this was not a dream.

The water spiraling down the drain was pinkish clear from the blood in her hair, on her _body_. It had sunk in through her clothes.

Whimpering softly, she grabbed her wash towel and began scrubbing her arms and chest raw, eternal red seeping into her vision. The mortified cries of pain and carnage echoed in her mind, the running water inaudible.

They had grown increasingly aggressive, like a pack of lions overwhelming the carcass of fallen prey. They decided to kill, not easily with their guns, but with their hands and knives-methods that increased pain before death. They dismembered one another like cows in the slaughterhouse in a blind and confused rage she couldn't bear to see or make sense of.

Her stomach tightened into knots, and she turned off the water. It was beginning to feel cold. She stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel as she turned on the air conditioning.

There was a light rapping on her door, but loud enough to make her jump nearly three feet in the air. She already knew who it was; she wasn't sure she was ready to let him in.

"Who is it?"

"You know who it is." The irritation was as clear as day in his voice.

"I just stepped out of the shower; hold on." Her heart thudded in her ears like a hollow drum.

When Leila opened the door, she was met with a heated glare that seemed to dissolve everything it gazed upon.

"Don't just stare; come in," she said softly. He brushed by her, the scent of aging blood in the air trailing behind him. He had changed his clothes, as well, but the gash on his head was still untreated.

"Where did you go when I was attacked?" he demanded. His glare was turned from her. The muscles in his back and chest rose and fell with his every breath.

"I kept going up the stairs until I got to your room." He tensed up and turned to her, his expression like stone.

"How did you know it was my room?" Leila toyed with the pendant hanging just above her breasts.

"You were in it."

"How is that possible?" His every response made it difficult for her to respond.

"I don't know, but somehow I managed to get to 1190. And now I've returned." Altaïr grabbed her by her shoulders.

"Did you not pay attention to what occurred between the times? What door was it?" The placid yet intimidating look in his eyes struck terror in her every muscle that locked in place. Her tongue was adhered to the roof of her mouth.

"Leila, do not play games with me," he growled, holding her body to the point that she felt numbness growing in her arms. Finally, she reacted.

"I won't explain _anything_ to you until you calm down," she practically whispered. His lips were slightly parted as he loosened his grip on her. The blood in her arms started to circulate again.

"I was supposed to the follow the other you somewhere, but when I followed him out the door, he disappeared, like I stepped into some kind of constant between now and then. If I weren't so worried about finding you and avoiding that man with the gun, I would have stayed to investigate. We could go back if that's what you want."

His eyes traced the dark lashes of her almond eyes for a moment.

"Not tonight; with so many people dead, they'll be investigating the area. We cannot risk getting caught again."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"We wait until tomorrow afternoon and return then." Apparently, he had thought their plan through before he decided to visit her room. No need to befuddle it—and him.

"You didn't clean your head," she noted. The air from his nostrils blew hard against her forehead.

"It's not important." Leila pursed her lips.

"You can't walk around with dry blood on your head. Besides, it can get infected, even if it is starting to heal already. Then you'd really make us stand out."

"Fine," he mumbled. "You're starting to sound like Malik." She left his grasp to go for the towels in her bathroom.

"I didn't get a chance to meet him. Is he your friend?"

"We are brotherly rivals. Sometimes he acted more like a mother than a man." Leila wet the towel, and then grabbed the first aid kit in the dresser drawer. He looked at her as if she had a third eye.

"I'm going to help you dress your wound."

"I can do it myself," he looked away from her.

"If it weren't for me, then you wouldn't have it." He sat down on the edge of the bed. As she went to work on the blood, "I've never met anyone willing to admit their fault," he said.

"Not until today." The hardened blood proved to be more difficult in removing than she realized, and when it did, she was reminded of the incident of that day. That room would prove to be a feast for the birds and foragers before their comrades came to clean up the mess of mangled bodies.

The cut was no more than two inches long, and the flesh underneath was pink; it would heal quickly. Evidence of it ever being there wouldn't be visible after a few days.

"Fortunately, he wasn't trying to kill you; otherwise, you'd have a cut much deeper than this." Gingerly, he captured her wrist in his hand and she stared into his eyes.

"You aren't acting normally." Leila hoped he wasn't being too attentive—how foolish a thought that was.

"Define normal."

"Not so rigid, or calm or collected."

"I usually _am_ calm and collected!" she retorted. _A slaughter like the one I witnessed was far from normal._ "_You_ can be so calm after seeing men rip each other apart because you're used to it. I've never seen anything like it and I'm not going to forget it without serious therapy." Altaïr let her arm go.

"It's not easy to push away such a graphic image for anyone. If a man can walk away from death without any feelings, then he has no soul." She sat next to him.

"Then I have no soul." He stared at her. "When my parents died, I felt numb, emotionless. When my brother died, I laughed. I _laughed_. What kind of sick person does that? I didn't feel anything for them; it wasn't until I realized that I was all alone that I cried." Warmth stung her eyes. "I didn't realize I was so selfish." She hid her face from him.

His fingers pressed slowly against her waist. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Every person reacts differently to death, so there is no right or wrong when it comes to grieving and accepting that a person you know is dead. When…" His voice trembled slightly. "When my parents died, I didn't know how to feel. I asked myself if I should cry, if I should have felt anything for them." She looked up, her nose brushing the underside of his chin.

"Did you know them?"

"They sent me to the castle when I was still a boy, and I was taught by my Master to conceal my emotions so as not to show weakness in the face of the enemy. It's not easy to undo something that was so deeply ingrained."

"Did you love them?" He removed his arm from around her. Leila felt his aura grow cold.

"That is a question I cannot answer." The assassin got to his feet. "Thank you and good night."

And he was gone.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I think Leimann is hiding something from us, Ameritus."

"Huh?"

"I think he's not giving us the full scoop about this whole situation." It was well past midnight, and fatigue was beginning to settle on Kyle's eyelids. But what his superior had said earlier in the day perplexed him into a sleepless stupor.

"Really?"

"Yeah. He wants us to watch the girl wherever she goes, but he doesn't want us to hurt the guy. Usually, it's the other way around."

"And?"

"So he expects us to do our job _and_ keep the Assassin 'safe'? I don't know if that sounds logical to you or not, but I want to keep living after this. That guy is not safe to let be, let alone live."

"Then what do you want us to do about it?" he sighed, tossing the rest of his donut into the trash. Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose, staring hard at the foot-long knife on his desk.

"I don't know just yet. But I don't plan on dying any time soon."

xxxxxxxxxx

"Do you think everyone should be allowed a second chance, Altaïr?"

"Some men use it before they even realize it. Some use it to redeem themselves, others do not learn from their past mistakes and continue in their wrong path."

"That is why you do what you do, correct?" Her red satin scarf danced about his shoulders.

"Yes. But I do not make conclusions based on the past; it is the actions of a person that determines who they are." Her soft brown fingertips brushed against his cheek. Her dark, shiftless eyes stared into his soul like a wanderer into the depths of a dark, limitless forest.

She drew closer, their lips meeting gently, naturally like the sun on the horizon.

He is usually hesitant to return tender sentiments, but this time, he knows he needs it. However, something is wrong.

He cannot see the dark locks of her head.

He cannot feel the warmth of her body.

He cannot smell the perfumed oil massaged into her skin.

When they break apart, she is a faceless figure, devoid of emotion, like an unfinished puppet.

He cannot remember her face.

Finally, he comes to, and is met with the darkness of his room. The sheets against his hardened body are cold like the sweat falling from his face. His heart echoes the hoof beats of his Arabian, Ammar.

When the rapping on his door began, he jumped to his feet and swung open the door like a madman. The figure was small in frame, curious in stance, and delicate in smell. Without hesitation, he grabbed the person, hearing the door slam loudly behind them.

His body was pressed tight against hers. Yes, it was definitely female—too soft to be male.

"Altaïr?" she asked worriedly. His muscles tensed at the sudden change in her voice. "What's wrong?" Her hands were feverish and swollen against his face. He shuddered, a soft groan escaping his throat.

"Are you okay?" she whispered. She was toying with him. This game was beginning to grow tired. His grip began to loosen, and she attempted to depart from him.

"Please." Leila did not think that that word was a part of his vocabulary.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Stay." His voice was firm, so unlike the tone before.

The minute bit of light in the room revealed him returning to his bed to lie down. Her eyes focused on the armchair situated next to the mattress, and she decided to sit.

Altaïr's breaths soon grew heavy, and she found it hard to keep her eyes open, despite the fact that she was in a very uncomfortable position.

The bed would have been so much more comfortable.

xxxxxxxxx

When he awoke the next morning, he groped the space next to him, only to have his palm met with cold sheets. Now fully aware, he sat up and turned to the chair next to him.

Her body curled up under the oversized-shirt she had worn to bed, and her head resting on her knees, he watched carefully as she slept. She had changed so much in the two years he had been asleep.

He was fully aware that her rest had not been enjoyable and that her body would be very sore and stiff later on. That was no condition to be in to go searching through abandoned castles. And there was no certainty that the men from the day before would not still be there.

Carefully, he grasped one arm and slung it over his shoulder, and then held her body close to his.

She stirred a little, whispering, "I'm sorry."

He set her down on the bed and covered her with the blankets, gently brushing her hair out of her face before disappearing from the room.

xxxxxxxxxx

I know this chapter was long overdue, but I had fallen into a writing depression. No one else was writing, so I decided to stop writing for a moment. Senior year can be very busy with projects and homework and stuff.

This chapter is very emotionally tiring. I'm a little irritated with Leila right now, as well as Altaïr. I don't like writing him OOC or Leila as this weak sapsucker, but for character development, it is necessary to take them through some dark times. Plus, we got to find out more about Leila and Altaïr! Thanks for following me this far into the story. I think the last version ran to chapter 9, so I'm doing well.

Also: I'm trying to hold back from mushy stuff, but when it comes, you'll know for sure.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own Altaïr or any other mentioned UbiSoft characters from the Assassin's Creed franchise, so please do not sue.

A/N: I'm still on planet Earth.

Chapter Sixteen: The Artifact

Leila jolted out of her sleep, sensing that something was awry. Yet, nothing wrong had happened. The room wasn't on fire, Altaïr wasn't bleeding out on the floor, and—

Wait. He was gone. There were no signs of him anywhere in the room.

Sighing, she sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. She hadn't even remembered laying down the night before. Had he moved her?

There was no time to be thinking about fluttering visions of the remaining adolescent whims of her mind; Altaïr was gone _again_, and they had to return to the castle to really search for anything that would help him find his way home.

Leila got up and left his room for her own, and quickly changed clothes. Her stomach growled a little in protest of its neglect; a few more hours without food wouldn't hurt.

Breakfast was apparently still being served when she noticed everyone returning to their rooms with plates of fresh fruit and cereals.

To her surprise, Altaïr rounded the corner with several apples in hand, as well as two plates of hot manakeesh†.

She stopped in her tracks, suddenly lighthearted.

"I thought you had left without me."

"I would rather not have you worrying and frantic until my return. Being scolded unnecessarily is not one of my favorite pastimes."

His eyes fell on the knob of her door, and she quickly opened it and allowed him inside.

"After what happened yesterday, I do hope we can actually accomplish something," she said quietly. He sat in the armchair and she on the bed.

"No doubt there will be more to investigate the massacre that happened; it will not be easy." He handed her one plate of manakeesh and an apple. Leila gaped at him.

"Eat." Without hesitation, she took it from him and began eating carefully. There was absolute silence as the both of them ate, and she found herself wishing there was a radio or at least the TV for a little background noise.

When she looked up halfway through her food, he had already finished. And he was staring at her. His eyes were blank and enigmatic, like a hunter trying to anticipate its prey's next move. His 'expressions' always puzzled her.

It was harder to eat the other half of her food with his heated glare on her face, but she managed to swallow it down and toss the plate in the trash.

"Thank you. I planned on not eating until we got back." His lips twitched a little.

"And why would you do that?"

"To save time."

"You'd be of no use if you were to faint while we were there." She bit her bottom lip and got to her feet.

"Well, now we don't have to worry about that, do we?" she grinned. His left brow raised a little, and then they were off.

xxxxxxxxxx

"What phase are you on at this moment, Louis?"

"We're recovering the artifact right now, sir."

"You should've been done by now; what's taking so long?" The old man's voice was getting to be a nuisance.

"The bodies, sir. They're decaying really fast, and the humidity makes the smell—"

"I don't care about the smell of a few dead bodies. Get that artifact as soon as possible and get it to Area Zero. There are still many others that need to be found and we have a deadline to meet."

"Yes, sir. We will be back in the late morning. What should we do about the investments in Section Ten? Aren't they going to want to know about what we've found so far?"

"We'll discuss that when you get back here. There are too many details to discuss."

xxxxxxxxxx

Altaïr was right; there were several SUVs and a large truck waiting at the foot of the mountain when they returned to the castle. Drilling and shouting drifted down the valley like eerie calls of the dead, and Leila shivered.

"There are probably too many up there for us to go unnoticed; what should we do?" she asked.

"Wait." She looked around. There were a few scraggly bushes and scattered boulders in the small clearing.

"There's nowhere for us to hide, Altaïr." He headed towards the crags bordering the river and began climbing—and at an unusually fast rate. Leila blinked hard three times, watching as he disappeared over the edge.

"And what am I supposed to do?" she asked, hands on her hips.

"Climb." Her face dropped, and the thought of walking back to the hotel occurred in her mind.

"If I fall, I'm going back to the hotel," she warned under her breath.

"You won't fall," he told her. That thought was supposed to be kept to herself. Sighing heavily, Leila placed her hands in the most secure-looking grooves in the rock and began hoisting her body up little by little. The exertion was causing her to perspire on her back in the warm afternoon sun, but she soon felt relaxed, and actually began to wish that the climb was a little longer.

As she reached the top, Altaïr grabbed her hand and helped her up. His other hand rested on her side, and she felt a tingling sensation ripple through her shoulders. Before the euphoria could completely settle, he let go and sat in a crouching position overlooking the scenery below them. Leila sat with her back against the rocks, rubbing her enflamed arm muscles.

"Your arms will stop hurting if you exert yourself more." She glanced over at him; he was staring hard at the SUVs.

"I stopped rock climbing a long time ago. With Asad gone, I didn't feel the need to go anymore, even though I lost every time we went." The ground was very warm from the direct sunlight, and she found herself growing very sleepy.

"I actually found myself doing less and less as time went by after they died. I liked being alone, laying around all day, doing nothing." She brought her legs to her chest, resting her head on her knees.

"Now here I am, trying to help a nine hundred year-old assassin return to his own time. Asad would never believe it if he were here," she laughed. Her companion remained silent, and the deadness of the air was like a sleeping elixir. Finally, she let slumber overtake her, and the image of her brother slowly faded away.

xxxxxxxxxx

Hours later, she was startled awake by a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"Leila." Her head more like a dead weight, she lifted her eyes to the shadow of his face in the fading sunlight.

"How long have we been here?"

"Close to five hours." It had felt like five minutes. "It appears that they have decided to stay in the castle for the night."

"They haven't found whatever it is they're looking for yet," she stated.

"I'm not aware of anything of value hidden beneath the castle. And I do believe they have found it; they've returned several times to their vehicles and put something inside one of them. It's locked, and one of them has the correct key." She furrowed her brows.

"So….we have to go find it?"

"I will go alone." Leila pursed her lips.

"Fine." He studied her face for a moment. His hand touched her shoulder.

"Stay awake until I return." She nodded slightly and he disappeared over the edge of the rocks.

xxxxxxxxxx

He could not risk her safety for such a dangerous task. She didn't know how to defend herself, let alone view blood without fainting.

If she were to follow him into the enemy's camp, he would have to occupy himself with the actions of himself and another person that could have very well compromised the entire reason for their being there. It was better for him to do this—and everything else—alone.

He had made a grave mistake the night before, and it would not happen again.

A flicker of the spirit of the castle returned with the lanterns they had decided to light and place on the fallen walls. Their tools lay splayed out near a large hole they had dug directly in the center of the sparring ring. The object must have been hidden deep underground.

The entire camp was asleep, and the silence reminded him of a cemetery—unnaturally still and tranquil as if a single whisper would wake the dead.

A campfire had been lit, but the embers were quickly dying out, and the moonlight would be the only source of illumination he had. And there was always the other ability he used from time to time.

As if with the snapping of his fingers, his vision faded to black instantaneously, and the slumbering men were a sea of glowing red figures. He scanned the area quickly and discovered the sole body glowing yellow.

Carefully, he stepped in between the limbs and heads, his booted feet noiseless and swift. The snores that carried through the air acted as a buffer for the few times he did crush fallen branches beneath his feet.

Just as he approached the target, a hand wrapped around his ankle, and he quickly drew his blade.

His gargled cries for help went unheard as the trained assassin covered his mouth and nose until he lay still.

He skimmed the room as he cleaned his blade on the deceased's clothing; no one had heard their fallen comrade, and so he bent down and unhooked the key from the target's belt.

Immediately, he got to his feet and returned in the exact path he had come. They would never know who had been there, but they would know _someone_ or something was in their midst.

xxxxxxxxxx

When Altaïr returned to the outpost, Leila was singing quietly to herself, braiding her hair into loose pleats. The moonlight distorted her into a nightmarish figure curled up in the darkness of the shadows.

He cleared his throat and she turned around.

"You're back. Did you get it?"

"Of course; let's go before they realize we were ever here." She got to her feet and examined his body with her eyes, searching for the object; it was long and narrow, and tied to his waist.

He turned his back to her and crouched down.

"Get on my back."

"Why?" she asked, puzzled.

"It will be easier if I didn't have to tend to your wounds after you fall." Slightly annoyed by his acute awareness of her flaws, she threw her arms around his neck and let him grab her thighs as he stood.

His grip was firm, and Leila wriggled a little to loosen it, but he was intent on not letting her fall.

He heaved himself over the edge and began climbing down. She watched as the muscles in his shoulders and back flexed and relaxed with his every move, noting how conditioned they were to this kind of exertion. Gently, Leila rested her head on his back and listened to the strong, steady _lub-dub _of his heart. She could have fallen asleep just like that.

"We're on solid ground," he told her. She returned to reality, and set her feet on the dirt, letting him go. It was much too dark for him to see the blush staining her cheeks.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Sir, we have a problem."

"What is it now? The bodies are walking around and biting people?"

"No, but it appears we have a ghost in our camp."

"What? Ghosts don't exist; stop playing around."

"Well, someone came into our camp and killed one of my men—and took my car keys." His throat felt as dry as a desert.

"What do your car keys have to do with anything?" the old man complained.

"The artifact—it's gone."

"_What_?" he demanded.

"Someone stole it; apparently, the same person who killed Armaund."

"You know _exactly_ who it was; how they managed to figure out our plans for Masyaf, I don't know, but you have to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible before they strike again."

"I don't know where to start—we know nothing about their locations. There are no fingerprints, no boot tracks—not even a candy wrapper."

"I have people working on the whereabouts of those snakes; it won't be long before we know where they are. For now, search the area for anyone that looks suspicious—check the hotels, the houses, the gas stations, _everything_. Leave no stone unturned." Shortly after that, the dial tone rang loudly in his ear for a moment, and then he turned to his men.

"Our mission just got a lot more complicated," he told them. They gathered around to listen further. "We need to sweep the entire area; check every single building, car and crevice for anyone suspicious."

"Louis, do you know who killed him?" He stared hard at the dried blood in the dirt.

"The white shadows are onto us."

xxxxxxxxxx

When they arrived back at the hotel, the entire lobby was empty. The desk clerk was gone and the computer monitors were solid black. Even the air conditioning had stopped flowing.

Leila peeked around the corners, furrowing her brows.

"Where is everyone?" A small, square note was taped to the front desk.

"'Midsummer Hotel Ball. Starts at 4:30 P.M and ends at 12:30 A.M,'" she read aloud. Altaïr seemed unfazed and uninterested.

"Do you want to go?" she asked anyway.

"No," he headed towards the elevator. She followed closely behind.

"Not much of a dancer?" He stared straight ahead, and then got inside the elevator. _That's right; he's not much of anything except an Assassin _she thought. The long object rested on his back and she was suddenly interested in it.

"I wonder what it is," her eyes studied the black fabric wrapped around it. He glanced back at it.

"We won't know until we remove the cloth." The doors slid open and they returned to his room. Altaïr placed it on the bed and then removed the rope from around it and then removed the cloth. It was a sword. The hilt seemed to be made of gold, and its blade was silver—and _glowing_. It had been buried for countless numbers of years—perhaps even centuries, yet it was still in pristine condition. Leila's mouth was slightly agape.

"Beautiful," she exhaled. He continued to stare at it, as if in a trance. His body was frozen, and it appeared that he had stopped breathing.

"There are voices coming from it," he told her, quickly wrapping it up again. "This weapon is not safe." His voice was cautious and stern as if they had stumbled upon a cobra or some other wild animal.

"What should we do with it?" she asked. He placed it in the closet and closed the door, keeping his back to her.

"We keep it, but you can never touch it; we don't know what it will do to either of us."

"Alright. We'll take it with us back to Jerusalem, but it has to be put somewhere safe. We can't risk anyone finding it." He silently agreed, and then they were left at a standstill. Leila wanted to go to the party, but he did not, and she didn't want to go alone.

"If you want to go to that event, you can go without me. You aren't obligated to stay with me," he informed her. With a hunch of her shoulders, she headed towards the door. "But be aware of your surroundings," he reminded her in a soft tone—something she had never heard before.

xxxxxxxxxx

The conference room had been transformed into a dark box dimly illuminated by purple and blue lights flashing simultaneously. Loud, upbeat music played in the background, and bodies were moving as if they had been shocked with cattle prods. Leila seldom danced so sporadically.

A few people—mainly men—stood off to the side, drinking in huddles and admiring the women on the dance floor wearing skin-tight jeans and moving their bodies like snakes to the rhythm of the music. There were some at the bar talking quietly, but one man in particular took an interest in the petite woman standing off alone and decided to introduce himself.

"Hey there," he alerted her to his presence with a sly grin. Leila took a few steps back, startled by his sudden appearance. His dark eyes looked like twin stars set deep in his forehead.

"Hi," she stated with apparent disinterest. He placed his arm on the wall above her head, balancing his weight on his arm. His clothes smelled of inexpensive cologne.

"I noticed you over here all alone, so I decided I'd make you feel more welcome." _Well, you're not doing a very good job_ she thought, mentally rolling her eyes. _Are men really this cheesy?_

"Do you have a name?" he asked.

"Don't we all?" she asked back, looking for someone—anyone, that looked familiar. He chuckled lightly, "I guess I deserved that one. Then what is your name?"

"Leila." He seemed delighted to know her name and straightened his posture, coughing briefly into his fist before getting enough courage to ask another question.

"Well, Leila, how about a drink?" She looked up at him with pursed lips; he seemed too hopeful, desperate even with his puppy-like stare.

"Sure." They walked side by side across the dance floor to the bar, and all eyes were on her in her khaki shorts and fitted tank top. Men's eyes lingered eagerly after flesh like a lion after cattle.

"One Jack Daniels and….." he looked to her.

"A Red Viper." His eyebrows rose at her choice of drink, and the bartender went to work on their beverages.

"A Red Viper? That's pretty strong; can you hold your own?" Leila made a face.

"Of course," she said in a definitive voice. _I've never had one in my life; I've only heard Asad order one once. I hope this doesn't kill me. _"What makes you think I can't?" He scratched the back of his neck, smiling.

"Because you're so little." Her first impulse was to step on his foot, but she locked her muscles in place.

"Little? You say that as if I'm four feet tall." Before he could reply, their drinks came and she drank it down carefully, tasting the harsh snap of alcohol followed by a tangy lemon aftertaste. _Not a bad choice, Asad._

"So, what brings you here?" he pried. "I haven't seen you anywhere in the hotel."

"I go out of the city a lot. But I saw the advertisement and I decided to investigate." He laughed. It sent chills down her spine.

"Would you like to dance?" Leila found herself being more relaxed, and agreed to his proposition.

"Sure." He led her by the hand, and a slow song had been put on. All of the couples surrounding them were young and amorous, the boy putting his hands on his girl's bottom and her face buried into his neck. Leila didn't know what that was like.

The guy put his hands on her waist and she put hers around his neck. She tried her best to keep her distance, but it was difficult to do so when he kept trying to bring her closer.

After some time, she looked up into his eyes and noticed he had been staring at her the entire time.

"I know we just met, but I'm already very attracted to you."

"Really?" she asked. _How superficial. I could be a female serial killer._ He blushed boyishly.

"Yeah. I haven't met too many pretty girls that wouldn't so much as get a free drink off of me, let alone dance. At least you've been kind enough to give me a chance."

"I'm flattered," she grinned. He moved in a little too fast and caught her off guard, pressing his lips hard against hers, and she pushed him away, eyes wide as saucers.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. She was disgusted. His lips felt like raw, cold meat, or a deli sandwich that had been left in a plastic bag for too long. The urge to vomit overcame her, and so she ran to the bathroom, retching into the toilet, but nothing came out.

With tears in her eyes, she went to the sink, splashing water on her face. Her head was spinning and her heart was thudding like a low drum in her chest.

The vibrations stemming from the music suddenly stopped and she heard someone shouting. What sounded like loud popping echoed through the air and people started screaming. Something was definitely wrong.

She got down to her knees and slowly opened the door, peering outside. From underneath the table, she could see pairs of shoes lined up one by one and a pair of booted feet passing in front of them. About a dozen pairs of boots stood behind them.

With the draping tablecloth, it was easy to sneak out of the room.

"This is not a robbery, so do not panic. We are looking for a murderer. A tourist was killed in the old castle on the hill and we've been sent to investigate." People began to murmur loudly. Leila stopped crawling to think.

Altaïr had killed an innocent person? Impossible. He had to be lying. She continued crawling; she was ten feet away from the door.

"Has anyone seen anybody acting suspiciously? Has anyone seen anything unusual?" The room was silent for a moment.

"I-I saw a girl and her boyfriend come in from outside covered in blood two days ago. I haven't seen them since." It was the desk clerk's voice.

"What room were they staying in?" he demanded. _Don't be that stupid!_ Leila thought, pushing open the door quietly.

"Room 417."

"Get a team up there now," he muttered to one of his allies. Her heart fell into her shoes. Altaïr was in trouble, and there was only a matter of time before they found her. She got to her feet and ran to the elevator, pushing the call button as many times as she could.

"Hey!" someone shouted. She looked and discovered three men in all black walking towards her. The doors opened and she hurried inside.

"Stop that elevator!" one of them shouted. The sound of their feet pounding loudly on the carpet made sweat fall from her face like bullets. She pushed the 'Close' button several times, and just as they reached it, the doors closed and she let out a long exhale. With her head still swimming, she pushed the button for the elevator to go up to the twelfth level to give them some time.

Leila banged loudly on his door.

"Altaïr," she called out with hoarse gasps. He ripped open the door and she staggered past him.

"What happened?" he demanded. His eyes were fierce and sharp, like hot knives.

"They think…you killed…an innocent bystander…at the castle. They're here, coming to get us." He cursed in Arabic and went for the sword.

"We have to go now," he grabbed her by the wrist. He looked out the peephole, and there stood three men with handguns. He cursed again and put the lock over the door.

"They're here," he told her in a grim tone. She paled for a moment and looked around. "We have to go out the window; it's the only way." Altaïr went to the window and immediately smashed it with his fist.

"They're going out the window!" one of the men shouted. They started banging on the door, breaking the wood surrounding the knob in the process, and Leila helplessly looked to the assassin.

"Get on my back and hold on to the sword." She did as ordered, and before she knew it, they were climbing down the side of the building in the chilly night air. Laying her head on his back, she felt his heart pumping as loud and strong as her own at that moment. Yet, his face was so calm.

They reached the ground floor and she dismounted, sprinting to the car. As she opened the doors, a head popped out of the window on the fourth floor.

"They're getting away! Radio Louis!"

"I'll drive," she told him, turning over the engine. He strapped in and with a grinding screech, they were speeding through the parking lot, running over bushes and flowers. The rest of the men came out the front entrance, aiming their guns at the car and fired all at once.

The bullets shattered her windows and she screamed.

"Duck!" she told him, turning onto the main street. The light was red, but she ignored the signal and roared away into the night.

"_Merdo!_" Louis shouted, kicking the dirt.

"We let them get away," another said. "We don't even know what they looked like." His defeatist attitude annoyed Louis.

"They have security cameras all over the hotel. All we need is for that clerk to ID them. Plus, we know where they're from; the license plate said Saffar Oil and Automobiles. We have a team of two out there already. I'll make the call."

xxxxxxxxxx

"I can't believe I just did that," Leila said absent-mindedly. Altaïr was stretched out on the couch. They were back in Jerusalem, having left behind the belongings they decided to pack. Her car was parked inside the garage—and would need extensive repairs. Apollo was found—finally—in his own doggie bed in the garage. "I ran a red light, I almost hit an old man, and I got shot at." They looked at one another.

"What a rush!" she squealed, falling back into the armchair. "I've never done so much in so little time." Her eyes closed slowly and she concentrated on breathing.

It was difficult for him to process the fact that she had done so many impulsive things and managed to keep them both alive. The car—and her apparent skills with it—proved useful in the end.

"Your skill with the vehicle was exceptional," he told her.

"Just exceptional?" she asked. "I believe I saved our lives with my last-minute thinking."

"Arrogance is before a crash." Leila chuckled.

"You're counseling me about arrogance? My point is that few people can drive through sprays of bullets and manage to avoid moving pedestrians while glass is falling into their face. I'm sure you could have done a lot better, but the point is, we're alive and that's all that matters. My car is barely running with the damaged engine." He got to his feet and headed towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

"To bed." She looked at the clock; it read 9:37 P.M. With a hunch of her shoulders, she reached for the remote and turned on the TV. A Korean soap opera was on and she left it there, trying to understand their language.

So much had happened in the past month and it was all finally starting to pan out in her mind. She had been in more danger than ever in one day than in her entire life, and it was only because of Altaïr's presence in her life. The aggression, the valor, the instinctiveness and even the joy she experienced in being chased and attacked were a flurry of emotions she had never felt before.

The Korean drama ended promptly at 10 P.M, and she found her eyes growing heavy with sleep. She turned off the TV and stood up to stretch and yawn.

"Don't move." A barrel clicked loudly against her temple, and she gasped, tears falling from her eyes. She couldn't see who it was, and the thought of a burglar—or worse—having her in his control chilled her to the bone. Her chest began to hurt and her palms grew sweaty. "Where's the other Assassin?" The last word rang loudly in her ears. _How does he know about….._ Finally, she put two and two together, and a terrible realization overcame her.

"If you don't respond, I'll blow your brains out." He removed the safety and she jumped. "_Where_ is he?" he asked slowly. She walked forward and he pressed the muzzle against her back. In silence, she walked up the stairs into the dark hallway, stomping, but only slightly.

"We aren't Assassins. We don't even know what they are," she said loudly. His room was just a few feet away. He dug the gun into her back.

"I know what you're doing. Shut up or I'll do it for you," he warned. Leila opened the door slowly, exhaling heavily as they looked upon a bed devoid of a body, but his lamp was switched on. The window was wide open, the dark blue curtains billowing loudly in the wind. Relieved, she relaxed a little.

"Dammit; he escaped," he mumbled. "Oh well, I still have you. Turn around." Leila did as she was told, and he looked her up and down. There was a dark plea in his eyes. "I haven't had someone in a few weeks, but I'll wait a little longer." She grimaced as he tied her wrists with plastic cuffs. "Sit down," he ordered her, roughly pushing her onto the bed. His lips were permanently fixed in a frown that matched his wrinkled forehead. He put a radio to his lips.

"I've got the girl. Any sign of the male Assassin?"

"No. We've surrounded the house and there's no sign of him. We're coming inside to sweep the place," the static voice replied. Seconds later, she heard her front door splinter and she winced. Shouting echoed up the stairs, and the sound of glass shattering followed it. Leila felt her eyes burning; he saw her glazed expression.

"I always thought Assassins were cold-hearted. A few vases and furniture don't mean much to you, do they?" he joked.

"I'm not an Assassin, you idiot," she snapped. "You're destroying my dead parents' home. My father was—"

"Yeah I know, Adamian Saffar. He was a major stock holder in Abstergo. If you tell us where he went, then we'll stop. If not…well, I'd rather not spoil the surprise," he revealed darkly. His eyes were narrow and maniacal.

"I don't know where he went," she growled impatiently.

"Any sign of him yet, Kyle?" a familiar voice asked. The man asking for hers and Altaïr's identity at the hotel was standing just a few feet from her.

"No. If he got away, it's on foot, which means he's not far." His superior nodded, and then turned his steel gray eyes to her. Leila stared right back.

"This must be the girl the clerk was talking about. How are you related to the Assassins?" he asked in a gentler tone than the one named Kyle. Even his smile was oddly less hostile.

"I'm not related to the Assassins at all. I don't even know who they are."

"Are you his captive? His lover?" She shook her head violently.

"No," she replied curtly. He seemed to be losing his patience. His eyebrows dropped a little and he sighed.

"I can tell you're lying. I've captured at least twenty Assassins before you and they all carried the same defiant air just before I put a bullet in their brain." His hand rested on the handle of his pistol.

"I guess you'll have to shoot an innocent girl because I don't know such a person. The man I traveled with was lost in Jerusalem and I helped him; that's all." He removed his gun and loaded it with a single golden bullet.

"This is only ten cents to me," he shook his head in disappointment. "Your death can be avoided." Leila remained silent, angrily closing her eyes. She still couldn't believe that he had left her there.

"Fine," he snapped, putting the gun to her forehead, its metal cool against her skin. Just as he was to pull the trigger, he let out a stifled grunt and she heard the cold pistol hit the floor. A silvery, glowing blade protruded from the middle of his chest and he touched the tip of the blade before his head dropped. Kyle was in just as much shock as she was.

Finally, he removed the blade and pushed the body to the floor.

He attempted to run out the door, and a small, sliver of metal flew across the room and into his back.

He stiffened at the impact and hit the floor with a loud thud.

More men rushed up the stairs, noticed their fallen allies, and rushed in to detain Altaïr. Leila forced her eyes to stay open.

Two of the men charged forward unarmed and with one clean swipe, the first one fell and he ran the other through on the sword. He roughly ripped out the blade and turned to the others that had removed their guns. Altaïr sped towards them, and they fired. Leila couldn't believe her eyes. It appeared as if the bullets went right through him. They too seemed surprised and ceased fire.

He felled the next two with one clean slash and the other begged for mercy, getting down to his knees. Leila's jaw dropped, her heart falling into her stomach.

"Go to your god," Altaïr told the man before he ended his life as well and gently laid him on the carpet stained with blood. His breathing was calm as he got to his feet and he replaced the sword in its holster before turning to face her. She froze under his basilisk stare, and wondered if this was the same man that she ate breakfast with, played games with, and even let drive her car. His expression was _cold as ice_.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. He retained the formality he used when they first met. She shook her head.

"No, I'm fine." He bent down to help her to her feet and cut the plastic cuffs with one of his knives. Immediately, she held his face in her hands. He clasped his hands around her wrists.

"Are _you_ okay? You don't look the same," she told him. His golden brown eyes never wavered.

"I'm fine," he removed her hands firmly. She surveyed the bloodied room, and frowned upon the golden picture frame smothered in red.

"We can't stay here. They'll just send more people after us if we do, and you can't keep fighting them off forever. My house is destroyed, anyway, thanks to them," she mumbled.

"Whether you want to leave it as is until it is safe or not is your choice," he told her. "I'm not telling you to do anything, but the best way to leave no trace of our journey is to be rid of everything that can lead them to us."

She stood silently for a moment.

"Burn it all." He turned to her, furrowing his brows.

"You said so yourself that this is your parents' home. If you burn everything, you will reduce their memory to ash as well," his words rang with truth. She swallowed hard.

"It's time I stop living in the past and live for myself now. If I keep thinking about them, I'll never leave this house, and there's so much for me to do outside Jerusalem. They're a crutch to me now—as well as Aasim," her voice cracked. Tears gathered at the edge of her eyes and he put a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up, studying his encrypted expression and he brought her into his chest. She suddenly felt at ease in his arms and buried her face into his warm body.

Just when she thought the tension was over, a soft clicking noise caught her attention and she looked at the ground.

The man who questioned her was still alive—and aiming his gun at Altaïr, who didn't seem to notice. There was no time to warn him. There was only time to act—and so she did.

xxxxxxxxxx

Obviously, I'm still alive by the releasing of this chapter. Sorry it took me so long. The end of the school year is always so busy—especially when you're graduating. Plus, I couldn't think of an interesting way to start this chapter, build the suspense, or end it for a long time. I wanted this chapter to be very exciting and I hope it was. Chapter 15 was a little sterile, I admit (very few people actually read it. :-/) Exciting news is, it only gets more interesting from this point on.

┼Manakeesh—a traditional Arabic dish served usually in the morning. It's flat baked bread served with za'atar, a type of cheese put on top.

Also: I'll be making some minor edits to past chapters (grammar, names, dates, etc.) and put a list of the corrections in the next chapter so that no one will get lost.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of UbiSoft or its characters, so please do not sue. Leila, Apollo, and her deceased relatives are strictly fictional and belong to me.

A/N: I'm still alive, this chapter being proof of that.

Also: I have made all the grammar, spelling, and name and location edits in all the previous chapters. It is 2011 Jerusalem, about Mid-May by now. Aasim is Leila's deceased brother, and her father's name is Adamian Saffar. So far in the story, Leila and Altair have grown to become friends. Altair has just reawakened from a 2-year comatose state and she has aided him in rediscovering his past at Masyaf. Unbeknownst to them is the fact that they are being monitored by two men-Kyle and Ameritus. While there, they uncover a team of men digging into the castle. Altair takes the artifact that they find and they return home, only to be confronted by the same mysterious-and dangerous-men. Altair detains them all except one, and Leila steps in.

Chapter Seventeen: Heat

xxxxxxxxxx

I saw her fall with my own two eyes. I did not want to believe it—could not. Like a withered flower in the heat of May, she bent and twisted, and became nothing. Her body fell against mine—

No. It felt as if someone had thrown her into me. Red stained my shirt and spread like a wildfire across my chest. I had returned home with the blood of soldiers, knights and the like on my white robes—like sin on perfection. This was different.

Her blood cried out to me, it pleaded for my aid. And so I responded without hesitation.

After I finished him for certain, I returned to her. Her body lay still on the red-stained carpet. I could not hear her breathing.

If she were dead, I did not want to move her. The entire home would be burned soon—and she with it.

While uncertainty gripped me, I turned her over. A wound worse than any sword blow had left a dark, circular hole in her chest that ripped through her flesh and clothing.

Her hair was as limp as her delicate form, and suddenly its usual shimmer had disappeared. I could not understand how powerful something so small could be.

I moved to close her parted lips, yet felt a sliver of air escape them. Quickly, I pressed my hand where her heart lay, and—

Yes. She was still alive, but weakly grasping what was left of her life. I brushed her hair out of her face and spoke her name.

"Leila." She did not respond. I brushed my thumb against her cheek; her skin was still very warm. There was still a chance she would survive her wound.

"Leila," I spoke again. To see her so unresponsive to my voice was….not ordinary. Her hand slowly lifted from the ground to touch mine.

Her eyes opened, and a smile crept across her mouth.

"That really hurt," she whispered.

I felt my heart ache and did not know what to think of it.

I lifted her up and carried her to her room. It was starting to smell of old metal.

Perhaps the already bloodied room had deceived me into thinking her injury was more grave than it actually was. "I think the bullet went straight through—that's never good," she groaned.

"Talking will make it worse," I told her. It was clear that the projectile was still inside. Her skin was beginning to bubble.

"We have to take it out, otherwise it'll move," she told me. Leila could be very hardheaded at times.

"I am no surgeon, and my knives are not properly cleaned."

"Then I have to go to the hospital. It's in downtown Jerusalem." I tore one of her garments nearby and pressed it against her wound, and watched as she clenched her teeth and made a noise like a snake.

"That drink I had probably makes it feel a little better," she tried to ease the situation.

"Leila, stay silent," I ordered her firmly. She wrinkled her nose at me—something I didn't particularly find becoming on a woman—but listened, and I picked her up and carried her to the vehicle.

The motorcycle wouldn't be a logical choice; therefore, I used her older car—the one that nearly killed us both so long ago. With no other alternative except walking, I put her inside and drove to the end of the path.

"Do you still want to burn your home?" The lids of her eyes were heavy and dark, and her lips were stripped of their ampleness.

"Yes. But don't forget about Apollo." I hadn't seen the dog in days and assumed that he had run off for good. But I didn't have to go searching for him—he was already moving towards the car when I stepped out.

He licked her face a few times and made it a point to sit next to her as close as possible.

I returned inside to the kitchen and found the matches. Before I began, I gathered my uniform and weapons and then I started upstairs with the bloodied room, then the others before I went back downstairs to set fire to the objects made of cloth. Nothing would survive this inferno.

I drove as fast as I could without drawing too much attention to the car and we arrived just minutes later. The bazaar we had visited two years ago was not far away.

I took her through the emergency doors and someone was there to immediately assist us—a middle-aged woman whose eyes had lit up when she saw Leila. Whether she had been here before or not was not disclosed to me in the past.

"Bring her this way," she instructed, and I followed her down a hall that had no smell, yet the air felt too clean. The room she opened was empty with the exception of a bed and there were clear glass bottles everywhere. The cabinets were made of glass and contained different things physicians obviously needed and used on a regular basis.

Three more people entered the room, eyeing me suspiciously. They were all wearing some kind of blue gown and white gloves, and one of them helped the woman into the same flimsy dress.

"What happened to her?" she demanded, cutting the front of Leila's shirt with a pair of scissors.

"She moved in the path of a bullet aimed at me." Her eyes were accusatory, but I did not react to her aggression towards me.

Leila's flesh was torn and bleeding, but at a much slower rate than when the incident had first occurred. The woman put a needle in her arm and turned on a strange contraption that chirped like a bird every few moments.

"You'll need to put on some gloves and cover your mouth and nose." She tossed me a pair of slippery gloves and a half circle of soft paper and I put them on so as not to bring further harm upon Leila.

She took a small, sharp knife from the tray and dug it into her flesh, causing her blood to pour like wine into a glass. To my unprecedented surprise, Leila was not crying at the top of her lungs. I kept my distance from the bed. The other three people in the room watched quietly as she worked, occasionally looking at the beeping machine, and then at me. I received similar stares when knights travelled through the city, occasionally looking over their shoulders in suspicion.

"There it is," she said barely above a whisper and grabbed another tool that looked like the pincers of a scorpion. It went inside the wound and she twisted her arm and wrist as if the bullet were adhered to her flesh until it broke free.

She dropped it in the tray with a loud _clang_.

"This looks like a nine millimeter bullet. Faisya, get the needle and surgical thread." The shortest of the three disappeared out the swinging doors, and the woman looked to me. She was studying me; her green eyes were unwavering and fearless—a familiarity I associated with myself.

When the woman returned, her gaze refocused on Leila and she sewed the hole shut in a matter of minutes.

"You three can go." They filed out immediately and we were alone again. Leila's color was already beginning to return to her skin.

"You're fortunate the bullet wasn't three more inches to the left, otherwise she would have died instantly," her tone was precise.

"I did not expect her to risk her life for mine." Her eyes elicited only anger.

"I'm sure any real friend would put themselves in harm's way, even though it may seem unreasonable often times. You owe her a great deal."

"I have given her my respect and protection, as well as my abilities." I was beginning to grow tired of this conversation.

"Your arrogance inhibits you from fully appreciating what Leila has done for you." Our eyes met and locked when she mentioned her name.

I had never spoken it. "It surprises you to know that I'm aware of her identity. I am a friend of her mother's and an ally of yours." I then realized why she reminded me of myself.

"Our brothers have been informed of the incident at the old ruin—a source of mine witnessed the city raids. Has anything else happened since then concerning her?"

"A group of armed men pillaged her house and attempted to kill the both of us if she did not inform them of the location of the existing Assassins, wherever and whoever they may be." She sat in the nearby chair.

"Those men were Templars, looking for something hidden under the castle. I have visited Masyaf many times myself and we never found anything out of the ordinary," she stated matter-of-factly.

"I was already aware of that. Our trek to revisit my memories turned into a mission to recover what they found." She leaned far forward, her eyes wide.

"Did you find it?"

"I took it from them. Somehow they traced us to her home in Jerusalem."

"It's safe to assume her license plate gave it away. They will continue to look for her—and you," she warned.

"With her house gone and nothing but her car to tie us to the incident, it will be more difficult for them to find us."

"I cannot say much more, but you need to leave Jerusalem as soon as possible. They will be trying everything to get to the both of you. Do not tell me where you're going or which artifact it is that you have. It's safer for me to know less just in case they come to the hospital. Here," she gave me a folded piece of paper. "You'll be able to figure it out later, but for now, you have to go."

"Leila's injury," I reminded her.

"She'll be fine for now, but once you get to where you need to—and perhaps even before then, you'll _have_ to treat the wound again. Here is a fresh shirt, some pain pills and extra gauze and tape. She can't have anything that will irritate the wound, so make sure everything she eats is soft and easy to digest. I'm sure you've been through this same ordeal." After she handed me the medical supplies, she disappeared.

I turned to Leila, picked her up, and carried her out of the hospital. She was resting—after all the times I had told her to keep quiet.

I unfolded the piece of paper that the nurse had given me and tried to make sense of the symbols and words on the page. At first, they were jumbled, but after a few moments of studying them, I realized that I could read them quite easily. Yet, it would have to wait—the same black car that was parked at the castle was pulling into the lot.

I secured Leila to her seat and turned on the car, careful not to draw attention to us as I pulled out of the driveway and back into the street. It would only be a few minutes before they caught on and would give chase. I had to use every second as if it were the last.

I returned to the freeway and drove, observing the signs above my head. Apparently, new cities had been created since my departure from the world—none of the names posted were familiar to me.

And so I kept driving until the sun was just disappearing over the horizon, and the car was almost out of gas. Leila had been silent the entire duration of the drive.

I directed the car to the nearest gas station and refilled the tank. We were just outside Israel.

When I returned to the car, Leila was awake. Her eyes were deeply fatigued.

"I need water." She handed me a few folded pounds and I took them inside and paid for the largest bottle I could. Upon returning, I helped her drink. Some of the water fell down the sides of her mouth and I had to wipe it off of her chin and part of her chest. I was careful not to touch her bosom.

"If we have to leave the country, then we have to fly."

"Fly?" I repeated. "Why not just cross over in the car?"

"Yes, on a plane, and no, we can't just drive over the country line because the government will not allow it. But where are we going?" Her voice was failing with every word.

"The woman who sealed your wound claimed to be a friend, and is apparently an Assassin, as well. She gave me directions to a place where you can be helped." She fell silent for a few moments, and then replied, "Where is it?"

"I have yet to fully study the map, but it appears to be written in a way that I can understand. We have to find somewhere to rest first." Leila did not protest to that fact, and watched as I drove further down the road to find some sort of inn. We finally stumbled across one some distance away from the gas station, and settled in the only room that was left.

She did not move from the place I set her down until her stomach growled loud enough to catch my attention.

"I knew that was going to happen eventually," she mumbled with a smile. Her resilience interested me. "They have a full service kitchen. Why not order pizza?"

"You cannot have anything that is hard or difficult to digest." She attempted to sit up, and I was quick to settle her back down on the bed.

"You need to let your wound heal. If you keep moving around, it will reopen," I warned her. For some reason, her face began to turn red, and I turned away. "I will return shortly," I told her after giving her the remote to the TV.

I entered the advertised restaurant and asked for something that was soft and easy to digest. The woman returned with a large container full of hot soup and I carried it upstairs to the room. Leila seemed interested in the food the moment I set it down.

"What's that?"

"Soup." She made a face and I rolled my eyes. "Would you prefer to starve?"

"No."

"Then stop acting like a child." Apparently, she did not have the strength to fight back, because she merely sighed and stared hard at the glowing screen. I poured an ample amount into a bowl and sat next to her. She stared at me as if I had a third eye.

"Open your mouth," I ordered her. Leila parted her lips and I emptied the spoonful into her mouth.

"At least it has a good flavor," she mumbled. I focused mainly on feeding her, but her eyes watched my every move. I had been stalked, scowled, and frowned upon in the past, but this was different, I had to admit to myself. When I finally looked into her eyes, I saw the finely smelted jewelry, the hair that smelled of lavender in the breeze, the sweetness of her skin—

I had to refill her bowl. But before I could, she touched my arm.

"Thank you, Altaïr," she said carefully. Just as I turned, she let out a painful cry. "Aah!" She was clenching her chest, where the wound lay. The pink-white spot that had been there before was now growing and spreading at an alarming rate.

"The stitches have come undone," I informed her, removing the bandage. I was correct; the black thread was forming loops along the edges of the hole which was much larger than before. I cursed under my breath; her time was wearing thin, and our destination was not yet known.

"Why did this have to happen to me?" she asked. I laid her down and removed the needle and thread from the bag.

"This will hurt."

"She didn't give you an anesthetic?" she asked in disbelief. I took the threaded needle to her wound and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"No. I assume she thought we would have arrived at our destination before you needed a replacement stitch." Her eyes were wide and wet, and she gently touched my arm. I paused to stare at her.

"If you don't want to lose all of your blood, I have to do this." She sighed and then whispered, "Just do it." I immediately continued, and in a few minutes, the wound was a small slit once again.

"I can't live through that again."

"Perhaps if you listen to the precautions given to you, then you could have avoided this." She forced her bottom lip to protrude.

"I _do_ listen, just not the first time sometimes," she muttered.

"Instructions should only be repeated once, which is why it's so important to do it as soon as you're told," I said.

"Thanks, Dad." Her brows were flat against her eyes and her lips grew surprisingly thin, a look I had never seen before on her face, but I wouldn't recognize her at first sight.

"There's no need for sarcasm," I snapped. "Being young _and_ naïve only causes problems, but apparently, you like confrontations."

"I do not," she protested. "I would have preferred being at home in my bed right now, but life has a funny way of making sure I'm never happy." Her tone was bitter and angry, like spoiled fruit. Understanding this woman's thinking was…..tiring.

"Life isn't about always having things flow down the path you want it to; random events happen because everything is allowed in this world. There is no vengeful spirit making your life miserable. Your parents' and your brother's deaths did not happen to make you angry, and there's nothing you can do to change what happened to them. What happened to your home was no planned event. You learn to adapt to a changing environment, and you live the way you see best—not wallowing in self-pity and a grudge against something as unchangeable as the ocean tide."

She stared hard at me for a few minutes, and then her face softened. Her eyes were glistening as she looked down at the blankets. I watched a tear fall down her cheek.

"I know it's not fair to say it's not fair, but that's what it feels like whenever something bad happens," her voice was barely above a whisper. I sat next to her on the bed, and she immediately rested her head on my shoulder. I hadn't invited her to invade my personal boundary, but I didn't want to reopen her wound.

"Malik once told me when we were younger that life is sometimes fair and sometimes it isn't. When it is, we don't complain, but when it isn't, we depreciate in our gratefulness for life, only because pain that we don't want to endure accompanies bad things. A woman giving birth experiences pain during labor, but the result is something good—a new life. The proper way to deal with the good and bad is to remain constant in all things and learn from the past."

"You would make a great father," she said, her voice serious. I felt my muscles grow taut. "Or even a college professor. Heck, even a motivational speaker, but I don't think the idea of having a blade in your throat would make a good alternative to your wisdom," she laughed. I found her humor very dark, but refreshing—in a strange way.

Her nose brushed the underside of my chin, and her breath danced across the fresh hairs on my neck as she shifted to sit closer to me. Her skin was unusually warm, as if she were running a fever.

"The only good thing that has happened to me was meeting you."

"How so?" My voice came out with more emotion than I wanted it to.

"I've had a lot of fun being with you. Soccer, a party, some dangerous adventures…" she counted on her fingers. "None of that would have happened if you were found by someone else."

"Don't forget that we were chased, your house was burned down, and you've been shot," I reminded her.

"Do you always have to be so depressing, Altaïr? The chase was exhilarating, my house was destroyed anyway, and I didn't die, so—"

I didn't care if her wound reopened when I grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at me.

"Being _realistic_ allows you to be cautious with every step you take. A home to go to is much more reassuring than having to run and sleep in inns, and you could have died if his gun was aimed where he wanted it. You only get one life, Leila. Do not be so eager to throw it away," I growled. Her eyes were wide in recognizable fear, like a doe in the sights of a hunter.

"I'm sorry, Altaïr."

My ears rang as I let her go. "Do not apologize to me. I'm not the one being insulted." She touched my hands, squeezed my fingers gingerly, taking them into her own.

"I didn't realize how big your hands are," she said aloud. The air around us suddenly grew less tense. Her hand rested in mine, so small in comparison. "And we're almost the same color—hey, wasn't your finger missing?"

Yes. When we first met, she smoothed her hands over the stub where I had my finger removed. I hadn't realized it until then. There were no signs that anything had happened to it—fully functioning, and definitely not a trick.

"That's weird. Fingers don't just grow back. And your hair—" She stopped mid-thought to get to her knees and run her hands through my hair. I was growing increasingly agitated with her disregard to my personal space. And she evidently did not know that her clothes were too small. Her navel danced in my peripherals like a taunting fine piece of jewelry dangling about the neck of a wealthy woman.

Her fingers raked through my scalp over and over again, but I could not bring myself to stop her. Why these thoughts crossed my mind rather than my usual immediate reaction, I could not find the answer—and that frustrated me.

"Your hair isn't straight anymore; it's very curly—and thick, like a rug." She sat back down and faced me, looking me straight in the eyes. "And your eyes. They're not honey brown anymore; they're hazel, like fresh earth and grass, mixed together." Her voice was soft and introspective.

"It's almost as if your body is changing, slowly but surely. Maybe we can look into it more when we get to our destination, which is?" she asked, lying down on her back. Her eyes suddenly looked tired when I looked back at her.

I removed the paper from the doctor from my pocket and unfolded it, "It's on this paper, but it's coded in Latin languages."

"Can you read Latin?" she yawned.

"Yes. I need to focus." She did not ask any more questions, but instead moved her body so that her sights would be closer to the paper. The position in which she lay was more tantalizing than she realized; I kept my sights focused on the 'map'.

There were three triangles in the corner with an eye above the last, and a shape in the form of a camel in a thick black circle. The words 'mauro', 'moor', 'negro', and 'noir' sat below a symbol that resembled the sun. The next graphic looked like scattered flowers with splashes of red and purple. A riddle sat at the bottom of the page, "The dial turns in all directions except the one that guides you home. Northwest of the king's eye is a land of scarlet and rosy earth where the sun never shines, yet illuminates the world."

"Any signs of figuring it out?" she asked. It had only been a few minutes and already she was bothering me like an annoying fly.

"The word for black appears four times, and the camel in the circle is an ancient symbol for nomadic people that have roamed the desert for centuries, but the rest does not recall anything to mind." I exhaled softly. Leila sat up and looked it over herself, brushing her hair out of her face. She had a new mole next to her lips that moved as she read the hint.

"Hm. Interesting. It sounds like something I've heard before," she reminisced briefly. "My mother knew a song about the nomads; she used to sing it to me all the time." Her lips quivered, but it was interesting to note that she did not cry. "It appears we are stuck here until we figure it out, however long that will be."

"We'll be here forever," I told her. She looked to me with uncertainty in her eyes. "It was a joke for once, but obviously you didn't understand it." Her mindless gaze reminded me of cud-chewing cattle. She came to and smiled, "That's a first." Her arms found their way around my neck. Our proximity became clearer when her chilled breaths mingled with the hairs on my lip. I could feel her heart beating next to mine, thudding at the same pace as my own.

"The song came from her ancestors that lived in Egypt. They were nomads, as a matter of fact. They rode camels and traded in the big cities, like Gaza and Alexandria, and along the Nile."

"So our destination is Egypt," I told her. My hands settled comfortably on her waist. She drew closer, the natural scent of her skin kissing my nose.

There was a long silence as we drifted closer and closer to one another, yet I hadn't moved at all. I waited to see what it was she wanted, and even she was uncertain.

I waited a long time before she unhooked her arms and fell back against the bed.

"The Black Desert, to be more precise. Are you ready for your first airplane flight?"

xxxxxxxxxx

Well, hello all. Sorry I took a two—actually three-month hiatus. I was feeling really cruddy towards this chapter, and then it finally hit me today. Yay. I know the ending is kinda off-tangent with the touchy-feeliness, but it hints at what is _really_ happening with Altaïr, which will be explained later on. All of the anomalies and abnormalities people are mentioning in their reviews will be explained. I promise.

Hopefully I can get to my other stories soon. Speaking of which, I deleted yet another that wasn't going too well, but I am starting on two new ones—one in the AC universe and another for X-Men, so keep your eyes peeled for a new title soon!


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Sorry for the long delay. It seems even though I'm out of school, I get really busy in August and September anyway. Hm. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue.**

**xxxxxxxxxx  
**

**Chapter Eighteen: Rift  
**

It annoyed Altaïr to know that he had to drive back towards Jerusalem, towards potential dangers on the road and in the cities. Their enemies were still on the search for them, and they knew Leila's family very well, so she would prove to be a complication. And he had to find their supposed allies soon, or Leila would be in serious trouble. She could not go more than a week without more medical attention.

The map in her car was more than two years old, but it proved to be useful in finding the municipal airport just 450 miles northeast of Egypt. The assassin's negotiation skills proved to be useful in getting them across the country lines undetected, but not in an airplane. The pilot had a few friends who did shady work on the black market, but this was not the time nor place for discussing legality issues with their line of work.

"We won't be flying into Egypt," he told Leila, who was half asleep in the passenger seat.

"Why not?" she asked groggily.

"Because the man named Haman can get us there through some associates of his; his asking price is 1,000 pounds per person."

She scoffed weakly. "I could pay for us to hop the country line hundreds of times and still not be broke," she joked. Altaïr ignored her as usual as he stared at her. Every hour that passed, she seemed to grow paler and paler. Along their way to the dusty city, she was so still in her sleep that he intentionally came to a hard stop to make sure that she hadn't died.

"We don't have time to waste, so you must make the decision now, Leila."

She was silent for a few moments, and then she pointed to her bag in the back seat next to Apollo. "I brought extra funds just in case we couldn't get to the bank." The assassin went for it and opened the bag to find several stacks of pounds bound neatly together, each bill worth 100.

"It's dangerous to carry this much money around," he counseled her, counting off 20 bills. Leila sighed. "Sorry, Dad." He rolled his eyes as he got out of the car and handed the man the money. He smiled, showing his very discolored teeth. Altaïr quickly ran his tongue over his own.

"Nice doing business with you," Haman said, putting a cigarette to his cracked lips, blowing out puffs of smoke. "You may want to take everything out of your car, unless you want me to take your pretty girlfriend with me," he grinned.

"Do what you want with the car," he told the man, walking over to the trunk to receive his and her belongings—including the sword, and then opened the passenger door. She had her hands folded in her lap as she stared out at the rising sun.

"You let him have my car?"

"Would you rather him be in it when they find it, or us?"

"Smart move," she smiled, looking up at him. She had deep bags under her eyes, and he frowned a little before he scooped her up into his arms. A surprised gasp escaped her lips, yet she did not protest to his aberrant behavior. "Where are we going?" she asked quietly.

He continued to walk until a certain point in the dirt and stopped. "Rest," was all he told her in a soft, but firm tone**, **and she rested her head against his shoulder, inhaling the scent that he was carrying when she first met him. It was a very masculine aroma that let her know he was a real man—a man who wasn't afraid to bleed, to fight, to work hard even when the sun was unbearable and the cold inevitable.

Finally, a man on a horse-drawn cart draped in a canvas cloth arrived, wearing a red kufi and a gray tunic and pants. His eyes were covered in black kohl that had run in the sweat falling from his face, so he had an appearance that made Leila very skeptical of their ability to trust him. But if anything went wrong, Altaïr would see to it that he did not harm either of them.

"Salaam," he greeted them. "I am Yusef. will take you as far as Aqaba, which is a one-day drive. In order to pass the border security, I will give you both false identification. When we stop to rest, I will take both of your pictures. Get inside." He got down to open the back of the cart and Altaïr climbed inside, careful not to drop Leila, who had fallen asleep again.

When the cart pulled off, he laid her down on the blankets, and sat next to her, studying her face quietly.

_"...I've been watching over you for weeks now. He said I should turn off the machines and arrange for you to be buried. I know he's wrong. I can hear your heart beating, I can feel the breath from your lungs. You're just asleep, and have been for a long time. I'll wait as long as I have to until you wake up."_ He thought he had dreamed of those words floating around in his head, but she had really spoken them to him when he was asleep. Two years she had waited, two years of her life waiting for one moment.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

When Leila finally awakened, it was dusk from the looks of the orange-red sky through the hole in the covering. The inside was growing hot every second she was under the blanket, so she peeled it off of her body and sat up. Her traveling companion had fallen asleep as well, his arms folded across his chest with his head tilted up. A dark, scraggly beard was beginning to grow on his chin; they had only been away from her house for almost 2 days.

_Why is it that whenever he's asleep, I can't help but stare? But when he's conscious, I can't look him in the eye?_ She scooted closer to him, watching his chest rise and fall with every passing breath. If he were awake, he would have thrown a scowl that could kill anyone who looked at him. _Well, if he pushes me away, at least I'll be expecting it._ Truth be told, her neck was aching from the awkward position that she was laying in, and his shoulder was just high enough for her to rest comfortably.

Drawing closer still, she sat next to him, gently laying her head on his muscular bicep. She felt it twitch underneath her head, and she waited for him to snap at her, but it never came. To her surprise, Altaïr placed his hand around her waist and brought her even closer to his body, which was radiating with warmth. It was much different from the stifling blanket.

Sighing happily, she snuggled into his chest, the hardness of his form providing security to her own much softer one, and she closed her eyes, listening to the hoof beats of the horse pulling them along.

After about another hour, Leila glanced down at her watch and realized that it was almost eight in the evening, and the sun had just about disappeared from the horizon when they started to make a steady climb up a hill. The cart felt like it was going to detach and fall down the hill, but just as suddenly as the ascent started, it ended, and the driver was opening the covering. They both opened their eyes, and she felt his grip on her waist loosen, but only slightly.

"We're at our checkpoint. There is canned food in the cave; I'll start a fire." With that being said, he disappeared, and Altaïr was left to help Leila out of the carrier. He held her hand as she got to her feet and got out first so that he could carry her into the cave. Yusef was pouring fresh water into three glass jars as he set Leila down on the makeshift bed on the hard, rocky floor.

"Although you were not in the direct heat, it is wise to drink plenty of water to avoid dehydration," he said in his dry voice. The assassin watched him for a moment, his dark eyes as shiftless and unyielding as his own until he finally looked away. He turned to Leila with one of the glasses, supporting her back with his hand.

"Drink slowly," he told her. She tilted her head back, savoring every drop until she whispered, "Enough." He allowed her to lay back down, and then he took to gulping down his own.

"I will not ask why you need to leave Israel, but I assume you have made some enemies that are unrelenting in their search and extensive in their reach," the older man spoke. When Altaïr looked up**, **he realized that the aged voice did not match the young face. He looked no older than thirty, but his beard was already turning gray.

"It is better if we do not speak about this matter."

"Fine, but I noticed that the girl has been seriously injured; she will need to go to a hospital soon, or she'll die." Not an hour passed by when he knew that she was inching closer and closer to being in serious danger the more time lapsed between her next treatment of the gunshot. The desert certainly would not have a hospital of any sort, but chances were that there was one along the way.

"I'm aware of that. Once we stumble upon one, I will not hesitate to take her inside," the assassin's cool voice replied before he took another swig. The warm air wafting into the cave was proving to have a sleeping elixir effect on his senses, and he found himself growing drowsy by the minute. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his eyes open, and his heart rate was slowing to a crawl that he did not like or think was normal.

He looked at Yusef, who was opening a small can of beans, occasionally looking up at him.

"You look very tired; you should rest," he suggested softly. He was not one for listening to a suggestion, but his body was leaning towards rest anyway, so he laid down next to Leila, who was sleeping peacefully. He laid facing up, staring at the brown and red stripes in the rust-colored stone of the cave.

Exhaling gently, "It's about time you got some rest," she said, resting her head on his chest. "That rock doesn't make a good pillow." He was too exhausted to protest against her movements, so he just lay there, his vision quickly growing dark, and his mind slipping into inactivity.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_"...Anyone looking at this situation would think that I'm crazy. No one would believe me if I told the entire truth. Your name is Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad, you're 821 years old, but with the body of a 24 year old man. You lived in the castle at Masyaf with other Assassins, and your enemies were the Templars. They're still around and so are the Assassins, but I wouldn't know if I saw them. Somehow, you were brought to 2009, and I discovered you unconscious in the forest behind my house. I thought you were a video game fanatic who ended up drunk and passed out, but when you opened your mouth, I knew I was wrong. Before that...I thought you were very handsome. Heck, I thought you were a male model. Like a silly girl, I thought the chances of us being together were a million to one, but that was only for a few days._

_When you kept consciousness, I thought you were going to leave me and go off on your own. But I guess you depended on me more than you wanted to admit. I guess a man who's so used to relying on himself to have to suddenly rely on a silly little orphan like me was hard to swallow. Even though you were unkind in the beginning, I still wanted to help you, to be around you. I'm a sucker for punishment, I guess. I had been alone for so long before you came; I was desperate for company. I wanted someone to care for, I wanted someone to love. I don't know if that'll ever happen, but I'm glad I met you._

_I've been watching you, feeding you, cleaning you for almost two years now. I know by now that you would have left. You're a very capable, smart man. Not a lot of things in this world can stop you from doing what's necessary. Sadly, I haven't met that many men who are as original as you are. By original, I mean a man who's about business—who sets goals and fulfills them, who doesn't mind missing parties, who doesn't play video games and maintains his maturity. I'm sure you were a man long before you turned 18 and I'm kinda glad you aren't like modern-day guys. They have a hard time growing up since they're so spoiled._

_I would ask you how many days you went without food, what happened to your parents, who Adha was to you, and a lot of other things about the past, but the time isn't now to ask. One day, hopefully when you aren't so angry with me anymore, maybe we can talk for a little while and get to know each other a lot more. Friends are supposed to know each other well, right? Otherwise, we'd be nothing to each other."_

**...**

_"It's actually not that hard to float," she told him with a smile. He was still trying to remove his focus from the small red triangle that concealed her womanly parts from the rest of the world as she stood there, hands on her hips. She wasn't trying to be alluring; it was just human nature for the shape of the female body to fascinate the minds and bodies of men. "All you have to do is lay flat on your back, breathe slowly, and let your body go." They stepped into the pool at the same time, its heated water soothing his muscles._

_"If you need my help, then let me know," she chirped. The assassin already knew how to swim—this was just another excuse for her to bother him._

_"I know how to swim already," his cool voice informed her. She seemed surprised at the fact as she neared him._

_"Really? Every time I mentioned water, you sort of frowned like you hate swimming."_

_Finally, he turned to her, noticing the natural red streaks in her black hair. "The idea of not being in full control of my body is not one that I entertain very often. I do not drink alcohol or inhale any questionable substances of any sort for that reason."_

_She sighed, treading over the edge of the pool to rest her arms on the marble tiling. "I wish the whole world thought like that, but now it's all about 'feeling good' and 'fitting in', but with the wrong crowd."_

_"The same mentality that governs people today stole the minds of many in my time. When in danger and alone, an individual thinks, but when with others, a crowd panics in the chaos. It cannot be helped that humans act only the way that they know." He always seemed to know so much about everything that she brought up. If he had had children in his time, they wouldn't be anywhere near as dull as her contemporary counterparts._

_"I just wish that that wasn't the case most of the time," she sighed, turning to look at him. He was submerged up to the bottom of his chest, but she knew better than to think he couldn't move fast even in their watery environment._

_Before she knew it, she was standing right in front of him, leaning against his shoulder. He had let his guard down and only stared at the crown of her head as they stood there in awkward silence. Leila didn't know why she felt the inclination to be near him at that moment, but if she had said what she wanted standing far apart from him, she might not have maintained composure and shed tears in front of him like some emotional wreck._

_"A few weeks after my brother died, they told me that the pilot had been drinking, and he had drugs in his blood. I've never put a bottle to my lips or shot up for a high, and I never will," she whispered into the skin of his arm, closing her eyes._

_He gently grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him. Leila's eyes were glossy and wide, her dark lashes coated with tears._

_"We do all we can to protect what we hold dear, but in the end, choice does not always play fair." She grasped the meaning of his words, but not to the extent that she fully understood what he meant by them. _

_"You always know exactly what to say, don't you?" she smiled weakly. He leaned in slowly, his arms now about her bare waist. His hands pressed her body to his, their bare midriffs touching beneath the surface of the water. There was a playful-like plea in his hazel eyes as he studied her. Their foreheads touched, and she felt her heart fall into her stomach. This was the moment she had been waiting for._

_His breath was cool and fresh against her lips as he spoke. "It keeps people quiet." A dark smirk appeared on his lips and he let her go, exiting the pool and leaving Leila with butterflies in her stomach and a red tint in her cheeks._

**...**

When he finally came to, the sun was just beginning to rise in the east, giving the sky a purple-orange hue. The stars were beginning to fade into the day as well and the air smelled of wind-whipped sand.

Leila was no longer resting on his chest, so he sat up, running a hand through his curly hair and observed his surroundings. The blankets were still there, and the residuals of the fire were long gone, resting in the ash of the pit, but Leila was nowhere in sight. And neither was Yusef. There were cans strewn about from Yusef's brief meal last night, but nothing more.

Something was not sitting well with the Assassin as he took in the familiar sensation that he was alone.

Being the smart man that he was, he knew it was too late to do anything.

Yusef had put something in their water.

Leila had been taken by that same man, along with his weapons, her dog, and the sword.

And he had no clues as to where they had gone.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Da-da-duhn! Sorry for taking so long with this update. I was out of town last week and very busy, so yeah, I couldn't get around to it until today. I hope this is just as enjoyable as the other chapters already put out there, so please be sure to tell me how I did on this one. I really don't feel like I did a good job like I used to. Does this arc seem to be a bit farfetched to you guys? If so, I'm sorry for not realizing it.

_Plus:_ I'm working on a Samurai Champloo story now, so for you SamCham FuuxMugen fans, prepare yourself!

_And:_ I am working on my other AC stories, so hold tight and check my profile for updates if you want._  
_


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I had a mean cliffie the last chapter, didn't I? Mwahaha!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue.**

**Chapter Nineteen: Where Do I Go From Here?**

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Before the assassin could even think about it, he had said enough curse words in Arabic to make any vagrant turn their head. They were _gone_.

How could he have been so careless? So vulnerable? So weak? Something told him not to trust Yusef, his beady, cowardly eyes, his jaundiced skin. He had learned well throughout his life not to trust anyone. Anything could happen to Leila while she was incapacitated, let alone injured and defenseless. Those hand-to-hand combat skills she had displayed early in their relationship would only be of help to her if she weren't so weak from her injury.

Growling impatiently, he kicked the nearest empty can, watching it hit the cavern wall with a hollow _thump_.

With an entire day at his disposal, he began sifting through the blankets, looking for something of interest. After a few minutes' time, he stopped, and headed to the back of the cave, where light barely revealed anything but a sleeping lizard and some dead plants.

He returned to their camp and stared at the footprints in the soft earth. Leila's feet were far too small to make such a large imprint. Following them outside into the burning sun, they abruptly ended where the cart had been stationed, and from then on, it would be unreasonable to go searching in the scorching desert for footprints. With the way the sand shifted every few hours, he'd end up confused, dehydrated, and eventually the meal of a few hungry desert mongrels. He knew better than to lack an objective.

Returning to the cave, his eye focused on a small white square wedged between the wall and a small rock. He picked it up and turned it over. To his surprise, it was a picture of him and Leila, she smiling into the camera while he held the same scowling expression. He didn't remember taking this photo, if any at all.

_Do I really look like that all the time?_ he asked himself. It was a seldom occasion to see him smile. She seemed so happy with her arms around his neck; he looked like he didn't want to be bothered. But why would she bring this photo of all photos with her? Wasn't Aasim the one she loved dearly, her brother?

He put the photo in his back pocket and rummaged through the rest of the mess Yusef left behind for clues. A few gum wrappers, some old kohl, a few batteries, and what looked like a metal canteen. Slowly, Altaïr poured its contents to the stone floor, noticing that it was clear enough to be water. He had seen the thief pour water from a different source that he had apparently tainted with the intentions of leaving the assassin behind.

He kept the canteen and continued rummaging through the pile. There were a few papers with numbers on them, a dirty magazine which he quickly threw out of the cave, and what looked like Apollo's collar. It had dried blood on the golden name plate, and he clenched his jaw tight. Things were not looking well for his missing friend with each passing moment and every disturbing discovery that he made. He knew—and apparently Yusef knew—that the dog was fiercely possessive of its master and would do anything to protect her.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his surroundings were black with the exception of red fingerprints on the walls of the cave and red footprints in the dirt. There were only blue fingerprints where he noticed that a struggle had occurred, and he cursed to himself. She was conscious and fighting when that bastard took her.

The only thing left was a thick, tangled rope, and that led to nothing. He exhaled softly, looking out at the shifting brown world. There were no other options except to 1) stay there, 2) return in the direction that they had come and gather enough supplies to go after them, or 3) go after them in a direction that had a chance of being wrong. He had no fear that he would fail, but uncertainty gripped at his guilt as he stood there, clenching his fists tight. The far-off cry of a bird of prey echoed in his ears and he looked towards the ever brightening horizon.

_Not again_ he thought, grabbing the water bottle, tying it about his waist and then removing his shirt to wrap around his head. With nothing but his instincts and 'the blue shimmer' to guide him, he trekked out into the unknown.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

"He's not gonna want to hear this," he reminded the disgruntled officer.

"Who cares? We need more men and more satellites in the air to find the jerk that took what belongs to us; I'm not gonna let one pissy Assassin with some fancy moves get away with this," he growled, leading the much smaller and much less intimidating man down the hall.

The sleek white door slid open and he stepped inside, apparently interrupting an entertaining conversation that his supervisor was having.

"Of course, Barbara. I'll see you tonight," he said before hanging up the receiver. His mechanical gray eyes focused on the younger man before him. "Why are you in my office? You should be in Israel right now, looking for Adamian's little girl."

"That's the exact reason why I came here; she's _gone_," he emphasized with his hands cutting through the air.

"She can't disappear forever. Credit card activity, license plate numbers—y'know, the usual stuff FBI looks for to find a target. Now run along." He turned his chair towards the wall-length window, looking out at the steel gray buildings towering into the clouds outside.

"You don't understand how serious this is, sir," the officer growled. He felt a blood vessel in his head pulsing with anger. "She has an Assassin with her. Someone we've been tailing for months now."

"Who is this mysterious Assassin? Miles? Cantello? Hiu? Mandrakis?" he rattled off. The commander felt his temperature lowering, and he continued, excited that he was finally allowed to speak.

"I don't know, sir, but he's quite strange. He speaks proper English all the time, he's very reserved and controlled, like a robot, and he came outta nowhere." His last fact caused the older man's eyebrows to raise. "Interesting. I've heard this story before. Ameritus and Kyle once told me the same thing before they died. You well know, Mr. Titus, that Assassins are like the wind—they move in and out of places quickly, and are impossible to catch _only_ if you aren't using the right traps. He could have come from Libya, France, _anywhere in the world_, and you wouldn't know."

"If I remember correctly, a video from his initial contact with Adamian's daughter reveals that he has no ring finger."

The older man seemed to be growing impatient by the second. "And?"

"In recent videos of their escape from the hotel, I noticed the ring finger is there. There's no doubt about it that it's the same person." At that, the officer's supervisor seemed to be making connections in his head, his face carrying different expressions. They sat in silence for a few moments until the middle-aged man got to his feet.

"Do all you can to find this Assassin, and of course Adamian's little girl, but don't kill him. Take whatever it is you need, but make sure you find him quickly, before anything happens to him."

**xxxxxxxxxx**

Tears streaked her dirty, bloodied face as the cart slowly pulled her along. She was all alone now with no help for miles on end. How could she be so gullible and fork over 2,000 pounds to a man that she hadn't even met before? She was so excited to finally have some clarity as to where they were headed that it didn't matter what they had to do to get there. They were better off flying over the border and paying a little more. At least they would have been safe—and together.

With her wrists and ankles bound tight, she couldn't do anything but lay there, looking up at the setting sun through the tear in the covering. If she were able to run, she would have jumped out and took off as fast she could in the opposite direction in hopes of finding Altaïr looking for her.

_Oh, snap out of it, Leila! He wouldn't be this close to finding me. He's probably still at the cave, trying to figure out the mess I let ourselves get into. I should have just bought the dang plane tickets and we'd be in Egypt by now. How could I be so stupid?_ she thought, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. _Altaïr probably won't come for me. He'll probably go back to Masyaf and look for a way home. I have to find a way out of this mess myself. _

Before she knew it, they were stopping again, this time at what appeared to be a small rinky-dink inn for highwaymen.

"We'll have to stop here to rest; a storm is coming in from the desert tonight," Yusef told her as if they were traveling in harmless conditions. She scoffed under her breath.

_Does he really think I'll feel better by him talking to me? He drugged me, marooned my friend, killed my dog, and kidnapped me. If anything, I want to gouge this guy's eyes out.__ But...I am kinda hungry..._ Her stomach growled loudly, and she tried to hide the fact from him, but he had heard it already.

"I'll feed you when we get inside," he told her, peeking through the hole. She kept silent, hearing his footsteps move around the cart until he opened the hatch. He climbed in and picked her up, trying to keep her from squirming in his arms. He smelled like hashish and alcohol—a very unpleasant mix that made her want to throw up, if she had anything in her stomach to heave out.

He kept her close to his rotund frame as they headed inside. There were very interesting characters in the stuffy halls: men with missing eyes, gnashed teeth, severed limbs—any entity that would haunt her darkest dreams. She felt very uncomfortable and threatened by this place, and she wished that Altaïr was hiding somewhere in a dark corner, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to rescue her.

Her ears picked up the sounds of a man and woman somewhere in the inn, and she realized that there were women in tatters and rags leaning against the wall, beckoning with their eyes. They were pretty, but a sort of sadness lingered in their eyes. She would end up like them, eventually: an object for pleasure who only knew how to tempt and seduce.

Finally, they got to a room that was empty, and the bed sheets looked as if they had not been cleaned in weeks. She grimaced as he set her down on them and he walked back out of the room.

"Don't try to run. I'll catch you before you can get to the front door." He slammed it shut and she stuck her tongue out at him. _Yeah right, fatty._

While he was gone, she got to her feet, looking up at the window. It was too small for her to squeeze through and it was too high to reach without a chair. The floors were solid, so she couldn't dig her way out, and he had threatened to catch her if she went out the front door. If she could find some worn, old clothes, then—

He came through the door suddenly with what looked like some very mixed stew and closed it. "We arrived just in time for the house special." He handed it to her and she smelled it briefly before she set it on the nightstand.

"Is it roadkill?" she asked. He scratched his hair and dandruff fell to his shoulders. _Disgusting._

"No. I don't know what's in it, but it's food, so you should eat it if you are hungry." He seemed to be losing his patience with her already.

Leila smiled inside. "I'm not _that_ hungry," she mumbled, turning her head away from him.

To her surprise, he grabbed her by the front of her shirt and pulled her to him. Her heart was in her throat as his yellowish eyes glared daggers at her. "Listen, you arrogant little wench. You can keep actin' like you're better than everyone here, but you're not. You're no better than the murderers, thieves, and rapists. Hell, you're just as meaningless as a whore." He threw her back on the bed and sat on her legs, keeping her from kicking him.

"No!" she screeched, clawing at him despite the burning pain in her shoulder. She knew the wound was reopening, but she didn't care. He tried to stop her hands, but couldn't. It was as if he were in a daze, half-asleep as he went for the buttons on her shirt. "Get your filthy hands off of me!" She heard her fist connect with his jaw with a sickening _crunch_ and he fell off the bed.

"You b***h!" he yelled, getting to his feet. His round body separated her and the door. The weapons he had decided to carry with him were in his jacket, and he had stripped her of anything sharp before she had awakened. "I'll make sure you learn your lesson nice and slow."

Leila smirked at him, although she was unsure if she would come out of this alive—or untouched.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

His eyes were trained to tell time from the motions of the sun, and he knew that it was approaching midday. The hottest hour had not yet begun, and the winds were unkind to his exposed skin as he walked through the sand. Sweat dripped from his brow down to his lips, and he licked the moisture from them before the sun kissed them away.

Judging by the decreasing size of the dunes, he knew the end of the desert was not far, but which end would he come out on? The east end? The west? Or the same end that they had entered it? It couldn't have been the last because the mountains in the distance were not made of the same rock.

He continued to look ahead until he felt a soft prick in the skin of his forearm. Immediately, he crushed the bug in his hand and examined it. It looked like a common mosquito, but its body had a black and yellow design and the wings were far too many for a mosquito. The red barb of its proboscis was still in his skin and he removed it, watching a mix of red and green drip down his arm. He cursed for not having any sort of weapon on him. Yusef had taken the pleasure of relieving him of all of his personal possessions.

There was only a small window of time before he passed out or began to show symptoms of some sort of pathogen in his blood, and already he was beginning to feel dehydrated. His tongue was thick and dry in his mouth, and the drinking water did not help much to quench his increasing thirst. His vision remained normal, but a terrible headache began to form right above his eyes a few minutes after being bitten.

Still, he pressed on, fighting the effects for as long as he could until he got to the top of the dune. There was nothing but more sand in all directions, but much too far away was what looked like a mobile caravan coming his way. By the time that they arrived, he would have completely succumbed to the toxin and it would be far too late for them to help in any way.

He fell to his knees, too weak to get up. Her face appeared before his diminishing vision; that was not the last face that he wanted to see before he passed. He did not want to die at all; it was much too soon in his journey.

But life had a way of being unfair—something that he knew all too well.

**xxxxxxxxxx**

_"I must be out of my mind doing this," she sighed into the night air._

_"Why?" his cool voice asked._

_"Because...something could happen," she replied quietly, shifting in the blankets. Her eyes rested on his face in the pale moonlight. There was a mix of emotions in her face—uncertainty, fear, excitement, and shame._

_"Nothing will happen if you don't want anything to happen. Action begets a reaction." The side of her face was warm on his forearm. He didn't move to push her away, and he couldn't find anything to rebuke her for her actions._

_"My mom told me once that guys and girls who are friends can't stay friends forever. Whether it's the guy or the girl, someone's feelings grow into something more for the other person because it's natural. If the other person accepts their new feelings, then they'll stay together, but as a couple. If the other person decides to reject them, then they can't even be friends because it'll be awkward from then on knowing how you truly feel about each other."_

_"And the point of this memory is?" She laughed, refusing to give in to his impatience._

_"We seem to be just fine. I hope it can stay this way for awhile." Her eyes closed, and this time, he was the one left with the end of the conversation._

When he felt the sensation of something cool trickle down his throat, he sat up and coughed violently, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His vision refocused and he realized that he was in a tent_. _It was much cooler than before; nighttime had set in.

"Are you alright?" the person who gave him the water asked. It was a female voice, but wise in years and very calm in pace. She was speaking Arabic, his native tongue.

She finally revealed herself, wearing a purple hooded cape of sorts that showed the streaks of gray in her temples. Her pewter-colored eyes studied him carefully.

He sat up, the symptoms of his bite long gone. "I'm fine. Thank you," he replied. There was a bandage wrapped around his forearm, soaked with some kind of green substance.

"A Tsingte fly bit you. If we hadn't found you when we did, every orifice on your body would have bled until there was nothing left." He looked around for the other person, and noticed the teenage girl poking in the fire. She didn't look up from the flames flickering in her eyes. "Quisal doesn't speak to men after what happened to her in a refugee camp. I found her battered and barely alive outside of a small town in Israel. The monsters who were supposed to be helping her only helped themselves to the women and young girls." He frowned at the thought, pitying the girl, and glanced at her again.

She reminded him of Leila, her calm, almond eyes and brown skin. "Although I doubt it, have you seen a man with a graying beard traveling alone on a horse-drawn carriage in the past few hours?" he asked, turning his attention away from the girl.

"You described just about every male traveler that I've seen in my life, but I do remember seeing a man earlier today with quite a few weapons on his body. I guess he caught himself displaying how skilled of a fighter he was, even though his intelligence didn't seem to be that remarkable. He was headed in the direction we were coming from, towards Egypt. There's an inn a couple of miles downwind of here; with the storm here tonight, that is where he probably stayed." She saw the faraway look in his eye. "Does he have something that belongs to you?"

"Yes." He looked down, recounting his throwing and hunting knives, his hidden blade, his uniform, the sword...

And Leila.

"Is it a woman?" The assassin calmly looked to her and she stared hard at the forest green wall of the tent. "I could tell by the way your voice dropped at the end. If it were a sister, even then it would have been different, but I discern that she is more than that to you."

The two were silent for a time until he spoke again. "How long will it take to get the inn from here?"

"Just maybe an hour or two, but you can't leave now. The winds will rip your skin to shreds. You must wait until the storm is over, at least. Rest until the morning." She left him alone to lie down on her bedding across the tent, and Quisal laid down right next to her, her black hair falling into her face.

He closed his eyes, listening to the ghastly winds outside, concentrating on his heart beat. It was erratic, vacillating, unpredictable, and harsh—but from what?

**xxxxxxxxxx**

The next morning, he awakened when the sky was not yet orange from the burning sun, but rather a gray-purple shade that showed remnants of the night. Quisal and the older woman were still asleep, and he did not want to wake them with needless goodbyes and thank yous for their kindness. They would understand that he did not have time for such normalcies.

He got to his feet, his heart much more serene in his chest, and left the tent. The terrain had changed drastically, but it was still clear as to which direction that the inn was in. With the sunlight on his side, he could see the rocky formations were much closer and the sandy roads were coming to an end.

There was no need to stop; his stomach growled loudly, but that was an issue he would fix later after more important things were handled. The closer he came to civilization, the more travelers he saw, some with camels, others with horses, and some with carts of fruits and vegetables and livestock. While the rest of the world continued to construct buildings and lavish homes, it seemed that desert life was ageless.

The sun was creeping over the horizon when he reached the inn, and a few prostitutes lingered around its entrance, calling him names and pulling at his shirt. He excused them quickly and headed inside. It reeked of flesh and alcohol, but it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced before. Brothels seemed to be timeless as well; this was no inn.

The man at the front desk was missing, so he carefully walked down the hall, using the blue shimmer once again. There was red everywhere—on the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling. Finally, he noticed the blue footprints outside one of the doors, and turned the doorknob. It opened very easily, and a woman quickly came out, pushing him back into the hallway. Her face was covered with a red scarf, but the rest of her body was very ill-dressed. Her top revealed most of her cleavage and all of her midriff and her pants were just one tug away from falling to the floor.

He moved to leave and she cornered him with her hands on either side of his body. "Where are you going, handsome? Why not stay and have some fun?" Before he could protest, she shoved him into the room behind them and closed the door.

"I am not interested in your services," he stated firmly. "I'm looking for someone." Her eyes flashed.

"If you're looking for a guy, chances are he's sleepin' on top of one of these girls in one of the other rooms. What's he look like?"

"Round, short, and carrying knives."

She smiled, her mouth making a perfect O. "Yusef came in last night with a new girl. I heard her in there screaming when I was in here with—hey!" she exclaimed as he grabbed her arm, pushing her into the hallway.

"Which room?" he demanded.

"U-uh, that one," she pointed to one a few doors down. "You can't go in there! They might still be sleepin'!" He didn't care whether he was in a deep sleep or just coming out of it; he would make sure that that man suffered a slow and painful death.

He opened the door slowly and noticed the man lying on the bed, naked and wrapped in the blanket. The sight disgusted him, but Yusef wasn't moving. He wasn't snoring, his chest did not rise and fall and he didn't shuffle in his sleep. Something wasn't right.

The assassin moved closer and realized that he was lying in a pool of dried blood with a long piece of glass in his back. If he was here, dead, then where was—

He heard sniffling from the corner, and moved around the bed. Someone was in the corner, their head in their folded, dirty arms. She looked up, her face ashen with dark bags under her eyes. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, but it had been less than 48 hours since they last saw each other. Was this even the same woman he had been looking for?

"Leila?" he asked softly. Her eyes softened as she got to her weary feet and stumbled into his arms. He didn't let her fall to the floor; he nearly crushed her with all his strength as they stood there. His heart thudded softly in her ears and she knew it was safe. And it was over.

"I'll never leave you again." She wasn't sure if she had heard him correctly or if it was a creation of her very exhausted mind. But it didn't matter as she quickly fell asleep in his warmth that she knew for certain was real.

* * *

One reader (SuddenSummerStorm, thank you so much for being honest) told me that the last chapter seemed to be a bit drawn out, aimless, and not like me, as if I were bored of this story and I wondered why I didn't like it. Now I know. I had run out of ideas. I was out of it for chapter 18, but I hope this makes up for what I lacked in it. I hope this chapter didn't bore anyone or didn't seem rushed. I just wanted this whole kidnap phase to be over as quickly as it started.

Seems like a certain company is getting more involved in the story...-hint hint-

Until next time, thanks for reading.

If you have any questions, PM me or ask it in your review. I'd love to hear feedback from you guys.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I'm guessing everyone is wondering what happened to Leila in the last chapter. Well, we will see in this one...  
**

**SUPER CHAPTER!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**©MilleSeasau**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: The Land of Golden Sands  
**

_"Mom and Dad just want to see you succeed, Aasim! What's so wrong with that?"_

_"I don't need to go to college or some big University in England to prove that I'm somebody! I don't have to marry Elizabeth just because they want me to!" _

_His younger sibling's eyes softened. "They want you to marry Elizabeth Murdock?"_

_He couldn't look at her anymore. She seemed so surprised. "...Yes. Her father owns stock in Abstergo, so our families combined would make a powerful liaison. Plus...Dad wants **American** grandchildren," his voice trailed off.  
_

_"What do you mean?" she asked. He sighed loudly and zipped his suitcase closed. She didn't want him to leave on such bad terms with her parents, especially their father. He had given them the whole world in their young lives; the least he could do was show some respect, even though he had the right to be angry with them._

_"Dad has always wanted to dilute his Palestinian blood, even though he married Mom, and she's Egyptian. I guess...since his colleagues are 'all-American' and like apple pies, blondes, and baseball, he wants the same just to be accepted." His tongue held distaste for the words leaving his mouth._

_"So he doesn't love Mom anymore?" she stated accusingly._

_He sat next to her and held her close. "I don't know, honestly. They've been together for almost 25 years, and he seemed to love her in all those pictures, but those are just pictures. Who can say how people are really feeling when a smile can be just as fake as anything else?" _

_She sat and thought for a moment, a hint of tears stinging her eyes. "If I had known, Aasim, I'd be going with you. I don't want to stay here if he doesn't love us anymore." _

_To her surprise, he laughed. His light gray eyes seemed to shine like his new silver BMW parked in the garage. "Just because he may not love Mom anymore doesn't mean he doesn't love **you** or me anymore. I could be hallucinating, or even crazy. He may still love Mom and prove me wrong; he's putting pressure on me to conform, but I won't." He grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to look in his eyes. Her heart began to pound furiously in her chest._

_"Leila, you have to promise me, whatever you do, do it for the people you love, for what's right, and for what's fair. There will be consequences, good and bad, but that's a sacrifice we all have to make." _

_She smiled and fell against his chest. "I wish you were staying here for the summer. What's going on in Cote D'Ivoire, anyway?"_

_"My wife, Anise, is having our first child." His face was blank and eerily serious.  
_

_Leila sat erect, her eyes wide in disbelief. If he was joking, she couldn't tell. "R-really? Why didn't you tell me? Do Mom and Dad know?" she sputtered. He shook his head a few times before he tried to hold back a laugh._

_"Ha! I can't believe you actually believed me!" he teased, clapping his hands together. She folded her arms across her chest, pouting furiously. "That's not funny, Aasim. I thought you were serious."_

_"A 22 year-old man married with a baby? What is this, the Middle Ages? It's 2009; the **last** thing on my mind is marriage! I'm just going there to visit my friends, Andreas and Helene." He got to his feet, stretching out his 6'3 frame and grabbed his luggage. "Be a dear and carry my luggage, will you?" he faked a feminine British accent. Leila rolled her eyes, picking up his other suit case and shoved him out his bedroom door._

_'I know he was kidding about the whole wife thing, but was he being serious when he said Mom and Dad weren't in love anymore?'_

* * *

When Leila felt a hand tug at her shirt, she immediately sprang into action—to her own surprise and to her alleged assailant's. His hand gripped her wrist so tight that she thought he was going to break it, so she kept squeezing until he spoke.

"Leila, it's me," he growled. She looked closer.

Yes. She had killed Yusef already; Altaïr had finally found her. Slowly, she let go of his shoulder, and closed her eyes, trying to wipe away the memory of that man's filthy, untrained bare body. It would take a long time for her to forget the sight of a beached whale in a sheet.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly. Her stomach felt like an endless void, yet she couldn't bring herself to ask about food.

"About half a day's drive from Egypt," he replied, his voice softer than before. "You've been asleep for almost a full day." She heard something rustling and a soft whimper. It couldn't be.

"Apollo...is he here?" she had to ask. Just thinking about his cloudy gray eyes made her eyes sting with warmth.

"Yes. It appears a nomad found him just before it was too late to save him. I was able to negotiate with the man for the dog." A negotiation meant a trade. What did he have that was worth a thousand pounds?

"What did you give away?" she asked.

"All that matters is that your dog is here with you—alive and well-fed." He didn't sound like his snappy, impatient self. Rather, he sounded very relaxed and attentive.

Finally, she sat up and surveyed the room. This, she could tell, was a real inn with clean furnishings, a bathroom and even a desk which Altaïr had taken the liberty to use as his weapon holder. They were just as radiant and sharp as they had been when they first met.

"I managed to get our things from Yusef's cart, so feel free to bathe," he informed her, slowly cleaning his very long hunting knife. It looked more like a short machete to her, but it did not curve as much; yet, it still did as much damage. Why is it that weapons came in different forms, yet still achieved the same thing?

Leila got to her feet, her full weight suddenly being too difficult to bear for a moment. "I will," she sighed, going for her bag.

"Be careful of your wound. I managed to find some thread to close it, but only for a short period of time. You have lost more blood since I found you. Wherever it is that we are to go, I must find it quickly." She wasn't sure if his words had a double meaning, but they still made her feel a flicker of gratitude for his concern for her before she disappeared into the bathroom.

The tub was sterling white and there was fresh soap on the sink, as well as complimentary shampoo and conditioner. After turning on the water, she looked around the room. There were plenty of towels to share between the two of them, and there was even a pair of blue robes for the "Mister and Missus" as the label read on the chest.

She looked in the mirror and touched her cheeks. She winced, and noticed that a slightly purple bruise lay on her right cheek. There were marks from where his hands had wrapped around her neck.

Removing her shirt, she noticed the long, thin scratch from Yusef's nails on her shoulder. Her skin would heal eventually, and hopefully without scarring. She had survived childhood without any serious mishaps; no need to become an adult and mess up her flawless complexion. When the tub was just about full, she removed all of her clothing and stepped inside, welcoming the steam rising from the water into her pores and aching muscles.

He hadn't left her. He came for her—through the desert and impending danger, _without_ his weapons. He took care of her, and bargained for her dog, something that he did not have to do, yet he did. Why? Out of kindness? She had never described Altaïr as kind. The word just didn't fit him. A kind person was considerate all or most of the time, didn't get easily irritated, and didn't mind having a decent laugh every once in awhile. He showed concern at the times he felt it necessary, he grew impatient if her responses were not to his liking, and he had never smiled while in her company, yet he had kept her alive all this time, through death threats, knives, and guns. So if not kind, then what was he?

Exhaling softly, she began to massage the shampoo into her hair. _I guess I can only say he does what he has to do_. _There's no exact word to describe him, but I know deep down, he's just as human as the rest of us, with fears, hopes, dreams, and even loneliness. His hard exterior may fool everyone else, but it doesn't fool me. He wouldn't have found me in that brothel if he didn't have some sense of compassion._

Her mind suddenly turned to the day before, and she wanted to push it out of her head, but couldn't as it replayed itself as if she were standing there watching when it happened.

_"I'll teach you a lesson, you Israeli whore. There's no way you can fight me." His eyes were bloodshot, his stance was unsure, and his words came out slowly. If it weren't for the hashish he was smoking, she would be in serious trouble._

_"Instead of standing there, why don't you come teach me, then?" she taunted in absolute disgust. The soiled sheets underneath her were very uncomfortable; she tried not to think of how many different people had been in this bed as he neared her, stepping out of his drawers. She was quick to look away as he did so. He was not her husband, and she didn't want to sear her conscience._

_Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of what was to happen next, and he forced her to look at him with his grimy hand. "It's not so bad. If this is your first time, then I'll try to be gentle." His crooked, yellowed smile made her want to vomit; this was not how she wanted her first intimate moment with a man to be. _

_Wasn't this supposed to be mutual, warm and loving? Gentle, passionate, and pure? It felt more like a horrible obligation put upon women just to please the desires of men. If that were the truth, then she never wanted to do this again._

_His kiss was not gentle; it was rough, and dirty. He immediately went for her concealed breasts, crushing them with his eager hands. She felt sorry for the women who had been with him before._

_She kept her hands at her sides, staring up at the ceiling, trying to separate her mind from her body, but couldn't. So she turned her thoughts elsewhere, to **him**. He had told her before that he did only what was necessary to pursue peace and order. Whether that be to kill or heal, he made sure that it was done. No one got in his way, no one was able to stop him if they did, and it was all because he had the will to act._

_'Act as you see fit.'_

_Suddenly, she remembered the item that she had hidden underneath the mattress while he was gone, and wondered if she could go for it while he was groping her body; but she had to move fast. There was not much time. She slipped her hand underneath the bed and felt its sharp, jagged edge on her fingertips.  
_

_He was too distracted to see it coming, and had thought that she had finally decided to participate more fully when he felt her hands on his back. But her hands were not alone as they fell down against her chest. _

_With all her strength, she plunged the broken glass into his throat and he tried to gasp for air, his blood splattering on the sheets and in her hair and face. She removed the glass and watched as he groped at his neck, his eyes wide in shock. He sounded like he was swallowing his own blood, which might have been the case, and it sickened her. The sight of him, the weakness, the odiousness of his form—she wanted to end his pathetic existence.  
_

_She went at him again, stabbing him in his stomach and chest as he lay face up, tears filling her eyes. Red was all she wanted to see, not the white of his sheets. White was too pure of a color for him. So she continued long after he stopped in his struggle and finally planted it in his back, falling backwards to the floor._

_Her hands covered with blood, she replaced her clothes, crawled over to the corner and rested her head in her arms, singing softly to herself. At this point, she didn't care who found Yusef's mutilated body and her withered form in the corner. She had done what was necessary, and that was all that mattered._

* * *

Now that her mind had settled on it, she finally realized the outcome of her actions, and regretted it immediately. That was it. _This_ was it. It sickened her to think that she had reduced to such an animalistic, instinctive state of mind. She was always in control of her emotions and her mind. But when she was hurting him, she felt free—and she hated to admit that it felt liberating.

When she saw Altaïr, heard his voice, she came back to reality. They were one and the same now. When she fell into his arms, she was glad it was not a dream.

What was she thinking?

_I wasn't _she thought sadly, stepping out of the tub. The water did not feel as inviting, and the tub had suddenly grown uncomfortable. She slipped into her undergarments, and then a pair of shorts and tank top.

Her mind was lost in the moment as she cleaned the dirt ring she left behind before exiting the bathroom. He was still busy with his knives, cleaning them with a gray cloth. The sword from Masyaf was propped against the wall in its cloth sheath and Apollo was sleeping with a bandage wrapped around his neck. She grimaced, remembering his hair-raising yelp when Yusef slashed through him and then threw him out the cart.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, not looking up from his wrist blade. Its shiny exterior made his hazel eyes glow eerily before he looked up at her.

"Not really," she replied quietly, sitting down on the bed. There was a solid black leather-bound Bible on the table, and she couldn't bring herself to look at it, guilt ripping away at her heart. "Thank you." He stopped and looked up at her.

She walked over to him and stood before him as if she were a child that had done wrong. "I didn't thank you for coming to find me after walking through the desert, braving a storm, and going into that brothel to find me." He remained silent as if he knew that she had more to say. She swallowed hard, gripping the side of her shorts tight in her fist. "Honestly, I thought you were going to take the opportunity to go back to Masyaf and find your way home on your own, and I would be stuck here, doing who knows what," she laughed wryly. "I don't know why that thought ever crossed my mind. I feel like such a heel for not believing in you."

When Leila looked up, he was still staring at her, his expression indiscernible. And that scared her more than the knife on the table. She started to break down, getting to her knees as she fell into his hardened frame, resting her head on his chest. He caught her, his grip loose and uncertain. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry, Altaïr. I led us into this mess. He stole your weapons, your uniform and left you to die. I wasn't thinking when I should have." He felt the wetness of her tears through his T-shirt, and he closed his eyes.

"Although it was not smart, you were thinking logically. With the Templars following us, it was fit to travel in the least conspicuous way possible. The plan was reliable, but the means with which to accomplish it was not your fault. No one can tell the future or what choice someone will make." He peeled her away from his body to look at her eyes that were swollen from crying so much. Her dark hair was curly and uncombed, but her face was clean, and he could see the welt under her eye.

"It's late," he told her. "We'll talk more tomorrow." Leila nodded a few times, but he didn't let her go. Instead, he helped her to her feet and brought her into his arms. She rouged immediately when she felt his head on her stomach. His hands rested on the small of her back as he guided her down to the bed. Her temperature shot through the roof; she didn't know what to think of his behavior.

Altaïr settled her next to him, their faces just a foot away before he leaned in and pressed his warm lips against her forehead. Leila wanted to sink through the bed, through the floor, and into the ground as he moved away, laying face up to the ceiling as he turned out the light.

Long after he had fallen asleep, she was still wondering what would have happened if he had aimed just a few inches lower.

* * *

The next morning, Leila slowly crept out of her deep sleep as the steady movement of Altaïr's heaving chest gently brought her back to consciousness. When she had moved to his side, she didn't know, but he didn't seem to mind; his large palm rested on the exposed skin of her side. Adamian Saffar would have had a cow.

The thought of her father made her want to get up and move, but when she tried, the assassin would not let her. He must have awakened long before she did.

"Did he hurt you?" The question surprised her—as did his tone. It was quiet, inquiring, concerned. Leila wanted to cry then and there, trying to explain what happened through sobs and snot, but this wasn't a TV show or a movie. She had to be realistic.

"He almost took what was most precious to me," she chuckled awkwardly. "I had to do what was necessary—like you said, remember?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes."

She wiped away the tear that formed in her eye before she continued. She sat up, looking down at the well-defined cuts in his muscles through his shirt. "I never felt so scared, so humiliated, so _angry_ in my life. When it was over, I realized that I had killed someone." Her fists were clenched so tight that she thought her palms would bleed from her fingernails.

There. She finally managed to say it. "I did what most people couldn't if they were in my situation. I _killed_ a man, Altaïr. I took his life. I passed judgement on him, and I had no right. I stabbed him _over and over and over again_," she growled, pounding her fist into her palm, her tears flowing freely down her face. "I _hated_ him with all my might. I detested him for touching me. I wished I could do horrible things to him—gouge his eyes out, scalp him, castrate him. I had never thought that way until he tried to rape me. All he wanted was sex; I could have just given it to him," her voice was choked with sobs as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Altaïr sat up and hugged her close, their bodies crushed to the point that they were almost one. "He threatened your safety. He was trying to force you into something that was wrong; you did what you had to do," he told her quietly.

She looked up into his serious, molten eyes. "I know I did, but I feel so bad about it. It's not something I do everyday or something I planned to do. I'm no better than the men on death row for the same thing that they did. I killed someone's _baby_." Her face was wrought with guilt and sadness.

"Guilt will paralyze you if you allow it; you have to look past it and think of what would have happened if you hadn't done what was necessary." She fell silent, digesting his words as she rested against his chest. If she had given up, how would she have told Altaïr? How could she look into his eyes and act as if nothing had happened? He would know by her demeanor; he could read her body and eyes like an open book.

"I don't think I could look into your eyes every day, knowing that I had let him do what he wanted with me," she said quietly. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until he let her go, getting to his feet. When he stretched, all of the muscles in his back flexed and recoiled, as if he were readying himself to go on the prowl as a deadly beast of the jungle.

"If you had tried to hide it from me, I would know, Leila." He exhaled loudly before he entered the bathroom and closed the door.

This man, this assassin, this mystery was really beginning to intrigue her with everything that he did.

Although the room was chilled from the air conditioning, she could still feel the feverish warmth from his hands radiating on her shoulders.

* * *

An hour later, they were out the door of the inn and piling their things into an old pickup truck. Apollo, much to Leila's dismay, was now too big to fit in the middle space between them, so he was put in the back, exposed to the heat of the sun.

As Altaïr drove, he could see Leila occasionally looking back at the puppy, worry in her tired eyes. "He'll be fine," he assured her, although he knew better than to think she would listen to him. Sighing, she stared hard ahead at the dusty road ahead of them. She could tell that they were nearing the border; she could see the high metal fence spanning the horizon as far as her eyes could see.

"Chances are that we'll have to fill out a lot of paperwork when we get to the office at the borderline. It may take us a while to get it done. I snagged your forged passport from Yusef while he was out." Her hand went into the inside pocket of her jacket and she removed a small blue book.

"I can't look at it while I'm driving."

She laughed out loud for a few moments, and he stole a few bewildered glances at her. "I'm sorry," she gasped, wiping her tears from her eyes. "You sounded just like Aasim when you said that. He would talk on the phone, eat, or even change clothes while driving, but he couldn't read a thing without going off-road."

"He sounds overconfident. He and I would not get along." Leila chuckled again, placing her hand on his free one on the seat. "You two are more alike than you realize; he'd be wary of you at first, but after awhile, he'd treat you like one of his buddies from high school."

Altaïr moved his hand from under hers and placed it back on the steering wheel. "I doubt it." He pulled into the parking lot, which was half empty; however, the office looked crowded enough. When he turned over the engine, Leila tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Come on! Young male lions always hang in pairs," she said. The assassin got out of the car and helped her out of her seat.

"As much as you would like to see the two of us become friends, it will never happen." Leila felt a sharp pang in her chest at his words, and she immediately distanced herself from him, distaste written all over her face.

_It's true that they'll never meet, but he didn't have to sound so cold and harsh_ she thought, watching as a puzzled, yet annoyed look crossed Altaïr's features for a moment. He turned his back to her and continued walking towards the office; obviously, he wasn't going to apologize, and thus further irritate her. _If this is how it's gonna be until we get to wherever we need to, then so be it._

When she got inside, he was asking for the documents necessary, and handed her one thick packet to fill out along with a pen before he sat down and started on his own. How he was going to forge all of the information the Egyptian government needed, she didn't know.

Sighing, she sat a distance away from him, filling out line after line of information she gave on the first day of elementary school. She laughed, amazed at how quickly time had passed._ Five years old and in pigtails today, bras and male attention tomorrow_ she laughed to herself.

Sighing in annoyance, rubbing her injured shoulder, she continued filling out the forms as people came and went. The other travelers seemed to be getting done faster than she did, but then again, she did write slow. Glancing over at Altaïr, she noticed he was on the last page; she had a lot of catching up to do. Minutes later, he got to his feet and left the office, perhaps heading back to the car. Leila finished about ten minutes later; it was almost noon.

"The young man that left a while ago said you were his wife. Here are your border passes," the older officer said, handing her two plastic cards with their names and the seal of the Egyptian government on it. She blushed, looking up at him, speechless. He laughed patting her hand. "There's no need to be embarrassed. Young women get married all the time."

Leila hurried out of the building and jumped back into the trunk, her heart still pounding in her chest as she stared hard at her name: 'Leila Ibn La-Ahad.' _His_ last name. Not hers. Why would he take it upon himself to do that?

"Is your wound bothering you?" his chilled voice asked, snapping her back into reality.

She glanced at him, feeling some sort of knot in her shoulder. "No, it just hurts a little." He moved towards her, and before she could protest, he was removing the arm of her jacket, his feverish hand on her bare skin. Moving her shirt out of the way, he loosened the bandage and felt around the stitch. Leila felt her temperature quickly rising as his fingers prodded her flesh.

_Why am I finding this so exciting? Something is wrong with me_ she thought, gasping as she felt one of his hands on her breast.

"Um..." she said quietly, her face heating up. The assassin glanced at her a moment, his eyes too serious to suggest foul play. "Your wound is becoming infected and it is spreading. You need a physician." He started up the car, backed out of the parking spot, and drove towards the gate. The older officer opened it and let them inside and she sighed in relief.

"We made it to Egypt without getting pumped with bullets. Yay," she cheered softly, her small fists in the air before she grasped her gun shot wound in pain. Altaïr made a face. "Guess I shouldn't do that."

He pulled over soon after they passed the border line and looked down at the piece of paper the female doctor had given him in Jerusalem. The riddle didn't make sense. He had deciphered it two nights before; it pointed to the Black Desert, but there was nothing there. Or so it seemed. Even if there were fellow Assassins in the desert, they needed to stop and find someone who could help Leila get back to her optimum health, which was slipping farther and farther away from her.

"We will travel to Cairo, pay for a doctor to see you and then continue to the Black Desert."

"The Black Desert?" she echoed. "There's nothing there but sand."

"I'm aware of that, but the doctor in Jerusalem pointed us in that direction."

Leila closed her eyes, suddenly feeling sleepy as she leaned against the window. "That's fine," she yawned, pulling her hood onto her head. "Wake me up when we get to _Cairo," _she purred in a thick Arabic accent.

Altaïr looked over at her, his heart beat slightly faster than usual at her words. He wasn't sure if someone else had spoken or if it were really Leila. It sounded more like...

_Her._

* * *

_As he lay looking up at the sky, she continued to run her slender fingers through his hair, watching in fascination as his curls unfurled with the slightest tug, and quickly recoiled when she released them._

_"Do you think this will ever end?" she asked._

_"What is 'this' that we're talking about?"_

_"This war between Templars and Assassins. Right in front of the naked eyes of the blinded common people._ _They are so busy in their worlds that they don't even realize the danger that they're all in."_

_"I am unsure if what we do will ultimately end this war, but it started long before either of us were born. Perhaps it will last several more centuries, long after we are gone. But what worries me is who will emerge from this sea of blood victorious."_

_She ceased in her caresses and leaned down, smiling mischievously. "You? Worried? The world must definitely be coming to an end, then," she laughed as he sat up. _

_He stared into her deep brown eyes before touching her face gently._ _"Is it abnormal for a man to worry at all?"_

_"Just you, Altaïr_. _You are allowed only one thing to worry about. After that, you will become too distracted; Al Mualim would not want that in his best student." __The shimmer in her eyes dwindled as she looked towards the setting sun, blinking slowly._

_He lightly grasped her chin, leaned in, and gave her a soft, tender kiss on the lips. "In that case, I am already." When he pulled away, surprise overwhelmed him when he realized that __she__ was not her. He could not remember her anymore._

* * *

Altaïr violently jerked awake, and would have thrown Leila to the ground if she hadn't been holding onto him. He was so close to her, he could _feel_ her soft, warm skin in his hands. Her lips, he felt them just moments ago.

"Are you alright?" she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder. It was long after Leila's visit to the doctor, who proved to be of no use. If Altaïr had not accompanied her into the room, the adulterer would have had her in a corner with his hands all over her. But more importantly, his blue shimmer revealed that his aura was red. They left quickly, and she decided that she had a taste for noodles.

The food that Leila had chosen nearly killed him. Where did she say the vendors were from? Thailand.

"I'm fine. In Masyaf, Hakkan did not put nearly as much spice as the Thai cook did." He could still taste the pepper on his tongue.

She laughed gently, patting his arm as they lay back down, her back to him. "Spicy food usually gives people nightmares. I'm sorry." The room grew silent as she gradually drifted back into sleep until she felt his warm hand on her waist and his breaths in her hair. Her face grew intensely hot as she tried to focus on anything but him.

_When did he start thinking it was okay to put his hands on me? It's not bad or anything, but_ _I don't want anything to happen. He doesn't have a shirt on, I'm in shorts, its hot in Cairo, and he probably can't sleep. This is worst case scenario!_ she groaned. _Wait a minute. This is Altaïr_ _I'm talking about; he wouldn't do anything major like that. He's not oversexed like other guys these days. Why can't they be more like_ him? She shifted a little, and his grip tightened. _For an aloof Assassin, he sure is touchy when he wants to be...but I hate to admit that it feels nice when he's gentle like this. I shouldn't even be thinking this at all...He's my friend...  
_

Leila felt herself blushing; she had crushed on upper classmen in school, her brother's best friends, and even the courtesy clerk at the grocery store! But this time felt different. She didn't get cheeky and airheaded when he came around, she didn't get butterflies in her stomach when she thought of him, yet the desire to be around him and knowing that he was okay was growing stronger every day.

Leila felt like she was going to choke. The truth was certain in her head, yet she was afraid to confront her true feelings. It scared her to know, yet it relieved her to have it fixed in her head. It was an unspoken, uncertain conclusion that she had never come to before.

_Does Altaïr_..._want to be more than friends?_

* * *

Da na nun! I decided to write a little bit more this time around because I was feeling happy about this chapter. I thought I was going to get to the point that I _really_ wanted to with this chapter, but the surprise can wait until next time.

Does anyone think Altaïr is falling for her yet? Or is he just being nice after what happened with Yusef? Leila has never killed a person before in her life, and she's usually very composed and serene in her thoughts, yet you see how she felt after she killed the guy. Just terrible. I guess we all have that animal instinct, huh?

I hope this chapter isn't overdone, or too drawn out or boring for you guys. Until next time. **The time between this update and the next may be a bit longer because I have other stories to work on. Check my profile for updates.**

Also: Revelations is a very nice filler game after Brotherhood. Three cheers for Altaïr and Ezio.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thank you all so much for following me this far into Leila's story! Hopefully, this chapter will kick butt compared to the last one.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**©JuneSnow (I changed my name again. ^^)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Arisen**

Leila found it very hard to sleep with Altaïr's breath in her hair and his hand on her waist—and apparently, he had moved _closer_; every time she exhaled, she could feel his chest against her back.

_This is terrible! I can't focus on sleeping in this_ _very awkward situation. How do the girls in those animes deal with this? Oh that's right, they're not real._

Finally, she had the courage to move from under his hand—which was very warm and heavy, by the way—and sit up, looking into the darkness at Apollo, who was wide awake and staring out of the window with a pensive look on his face.

_I swear, that dog is a human in a fur coat._

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice groggy, yet still imposing. She turned around just as he turned on the light, and she wished that she hadn't.

His bronzed chest was bare and heaving as he sat up, the crimson blankets seductively falling about his waist. His hazel eyes were squinted, and his lips were slightly curled, altogether creating an image of a god that any woman would want to greet them in the morning. Leila's heart pounded furiously in her chest at the sight, and she looked away before he could really focus on her face, which was more and likely red from embarrassment.

"I have to use it," she said quickly, running to the bathroom and shutting the door as if he were going to chase her.

_Please don't let him chase me. I don't think I could take it._ Groaning, she slid to the cold granite floor. _Just what I need: temptation in the form of a man.__ I'm sure he's just as controlled as he's ever been, but doesn't he know that it could easily get out of hand? I'm lusting right now! So not me!_ After getting up and splashing cold water on her face a few times, she left the bathroom only to be greeted by Altaïr's very intimidating glare.

She stopped dead in her tracks. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked cautiously. His eyes immediately softened a little before he laid back down, his arms folded behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. She could see all of the muscles in his chest and arms flex as his arms moved up, and the sensation to run a cold shower—or two—crossed her mind.

_Just turn off the stupid light, Altaïr_._ Just turn it off. Geez, what's wrong with my eyes? Why can't I stop looking?_ As if he could sense her staring, his eyes slid in her direction just as she crawled back into the bed.

He turned off the light, and she relaxed, focusing on galloping horses and fresh, tasty fruit and—

His hand was on her waist again, but this time, he pulled her into his body, and she wanted to disintegrate into chaff and blow away in the wind. _This has to be a joke! I liked the old __Altaïr_,_ the one who hated my guts, the one who_—

"Do not worry about Yusef anymore," the timbre in his voice sent chills down her spine. Leila sighed lightly, drawing a circle in the sheets with her finger.

"I'll try not to," she whispered, a flash of the blood-stained sheets forever fixed in her memory.

"With time, the images will fade." To her surprise, he squeezed her hand gently, and turned over, the warmth of his body leaving her almost immediately. Silence fell between them like a dead weight, and Leila wondered why he had changed so drastically in just a few minutes.

But she would not bring her concern to him.

It was better this way.

* * *

_"Leila, I know you too well. Don't play dumb. Who is he?" Rafiqah asked. _

_Her fellow Junior in high school blushed, hugging her pillow tight. "Well...You promise you won't tell anyone?" she asked shyly. Rafiqah nodded, a wide grin on her face. "My brother's friend, Azousa Abidjian." _

_Her jaw dropped, her black eyeliner emphasizing how large her brown eyes were. "Azousa Abidjian? As in, star football forward, Azousa Abidjian?" Leila nodded, her eyes cast to the ground. "Nice pick, Leila," she commended. "He's a stud muffin. How are you gonna tell him?"_

_Her head shot up. "Tell him what?" _

_Rafiqah laughed at her state of panic."That you like him and you want to date him."_

_"No! I-I can't. He'll laugh at me," she lamented._

_"Why would he? You're gorgeous, one of the prettiest girls in Jerusalem. You've got hair, lips, hips, and—"_

_"—Okay, Rafiqah. But he likes the undercover blondes that wear war paint and stilettos."_

_"Amethyst and the Bimbo Pack are air-heads, but I see him checking you out in the hallway when you aren't looking. And he doesn't try to be coy about it. Whenever you come around, he gets goofy and random. He likes you." _

_Leila chuckled to herself. The thought of a very attractive man having his eye on her was...odd. "I never noticed. But I don't know how to talk to a guy, let alone ask him out."_

_"I'll help you. Azousa is my good friend." Leila gave her a sideways glance before Rafiqah shrugged her shoulders in defense. "I hang out with his sister sometimes! What?"_

_xxxxx  
_

_"You know, I've always kept my eye on you since Freshman year." Azousa flashed his dazzling smile, taking a sip of his root beer. His stare was so intense, yet so relaxing. He wasn't looking through her at the attractive women behind her, nor was he trying to undress her with his eyes. He was just focused on her— and her alone.  
_

_Leila shifted in her seat, looking out at the downtown Jerusalem nightlife. They were in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, and Lyle's father had gladly shelled out a thousand dollars for whatever it is that they wanted to do that evening. And if they needed more, he handed his son a nice, shiny gold card._

_Azousa was being very generous and attentive, but she didn't know how she let Rafiqah talk her into this, and into a dress. She hated dresses. But she had to admit that the deep blue sheath that she was wearing was very tasteful and complimented her figure well. "I always assumed that you wouldn't have anything to do with me, since Amethyst hates me."_

_"Just to let you know, she and I, we...have never gone out." She looked up at him questioningly, and he looked away, suddenly resembling a shy little teen at the moment. "She's been coming around, flirting with me—which by the way, is usually fun, but she's terrible at it with her cliches, so it's just downright annoying. I never thought an Israeli heiress could be so typical and blonde; it's like living some horrible American teen movie over and over again." All the while he was explaining, Leila was trying her best to keep her laugh in._

_"What's so funny?" he asked, laughing himself. He scooted close to her in their intimate little booth, and she stopped laughing, staring up into his eyes. They were in a high-end restaurant, so if he tried to get funny, she was sure his parents' friends were all having dinner that night._

_"Your eyes. They're not really brown; they're red, like dark wine." He thumbed her cheek and she blushed, her heart in her throat. "I've always admired you for being so smart, so unlike the other girls. I thought I'd never have a chance with a woman like you." His green eyes twinkled from the flicker of the candle as he moved in, the smell of his musky cologne in her nose._

_Leila closed her eyes just as their lips touched, softly, innocently. Neither of them wanted to be the first to retreat. He pulled away, exhaling as if he had been deprived of air. "If you don't mind my saying, your lips taste like strawberries." _

_She laughed, Rafiqah's voice in her head, '"If he kisses you, he'll taste the strawberry lip gloss."' "I guess that's a good thing," she whispered, pulling on his collar for another kiss._

_"Leila!" a very alarmed and angry voice called out. She pulled away, scanning the room for the source of the voice. To her dismay, it was Aasim, storming over to them, raising heads and focusing all sights on her and Azousa._

_"What are you doing here?" he demanded in Arabic._

_"You can speak in English, Aasim," she hissed. Azousa seemed very unnerved as he sat there, glaring daggers at his friend._

_"Answer my question, Leila! Why are you here with Azousa?"_

_"We're on a date," Azousa added in, getting to his feet. They stood eye to eye, and whispers flooded the room. "Is there anything wrong with getting to know your sister?"_

_"Sucking on her face isn't a requirement, Azousa. I'd appreciate it if you could treat her with more respect."_

_"I am. We both agreed to the kiss." They both looked to her, and she stared down at the ground. "Listen, Aasim, I like Leila, and I always have. It took me two years to have the guts to ask her out, and now you're blowing up over it. What's the problem?"_

_ "I have the right to be upset. You want to date my little sister. That's forbidden."_

_"Since when?" Leila finally voiced. Aasim seemed surprised. "I can date whoever I want." His eyes narrowed, and she could see the smoke billowing from his ears._

_"Leila," his voice had taken on a dark edge. "You're coming home. Now." He grabbed her by her wrist and dragged her out of the dining hall. She looked back at Azousa, who said nothing in protest as he watched her be humiliated as she was pulled farther and farther away.  
_

_When they were in his new BMW, Leila was trying her best to keep her tears from falling, but her chest heaved with hatred and embarrassment as she toyed with her pendant. "I hate you," she whispered. _

_He slowed the car, "What?" he asked.  
_

_"I hate you!" she screeched. "You ruin everything for me! Every time I find something that makes me happy, you come and screw it up! Why can't you just leave me alone?"_

_"Leila, you don't know anything about him! He's a dog. Why do you think he wanted to kiss you on the first date? Huh?" he asked, pulling into their garage._

_ Tears streaked her face as she thought for a moment. "You just can't bear the fact that someone might actually like me," she whispered before getting out of the car._

_xxxxx_

_The next day, after eating lunch, Leila scoured every building on campus for Azousa. He was nowhere to be found, and Rafiqah had come down with a nasty cold. His troupe was busy teasing the attractive librarian in the upper book room, but they were too vague in details to reveal his true location when she asked. _

_'Aasim scared him off. That butthead!' she seethed quietly, peeking into the boy's locker room. There was no one there, and she didn't see his short black ponytail billowing in the wind on the field, so where was he?_

_Returning inside, she walked through the Administrator's Hall, just about ready to give up when she heard commotion in the supply closet. More curious than cautious, she opened the door slowly, and there was Azousa—and Amethyst, barely clothed and in each other's arms.  
_

_His eyes grew cold as he stared at her, and Amethyst smirked, blowing her a kiss._

_"You shoulda had 'em when you had the chance, Le-loser!" she said, slamming the door shut in her face. _

_Numb, confused, and hurt, Leila ran out of the school, past the security gate and down the street, her feet taking her to the only place she knew she couldn't be hurt by anyone or anything._

_When Aasim found her under the juniper tree in the park that they played in as children, she was curled up in a ball, her mascara staining her brown cheeks. He sat down next to her, and she fell into his arms, wishing she had never said what she did the day before._

_"Aasim...I..." she muttered, trying to formulate her sentence._

_"I know, Leila. I'm sorry, too."_

* * *

When Leila opened her eyes, her vision was nothing but a blur of brown and black; she rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times before she realized that Altaïr was staring down at her. How embarrassing. And strange.

"Did I wake you?" she asked, clearing her throat. She desperately wanted to close her eyes to shut out the sun, but it was much too bright.

"You sounded as if you were crying," he told her. His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away the moisture that she hadn't felt in her sleep. Why was she crying? Was it because of Azousa? Or was she missing her brother, the one who was always right about people and had kept her safe from a lot of calamity that she would have brought on herself?

"I had a nightmare. Sometimes they can be too real." Sighing, she sat up and scanned the room for her bag. Goosebumps ran up her arms from the air conditioned room. Yet another day on the run, another day searching for the unknown.

"Was it about your brother?" he asked. Leila closed her eyes, "Yeah." She looked up at him. "I miss him so much."

"I do not know if you believe in an afterlife or not, but perhaps he is waiting for you there."

"No," she laughed getting to her feet. "He's buried in the ground as if he's in a deep sleep. A sleep he may or may not awaken from."

"How so?" He seemed interested whenever faith and religion became the subject, yet he didn't seem to be 'spiritual' himself.

"I had a friend who was very different from everyone else, but she moved to the United Kingdom. She believed everyone who has died will be brought back to live again. She didn't really get a chance to explain more before she left, but it's different from what everyone else teaches, so I put it in my belief belt."

"Belief belt?" he echoed, skepticism in his tone.

"Yeah. It's this little corner in my mind where I keep certain beliefs in my head."

"Such as?"

"Let's see...No sex before marriage, no magic, no ghosts, no holidays," she counted off on her fingers. She stopped when she felt eyes on her, and laughed when she saw Altaïr's bedazzled expression. "What? I gotta have some kind of guidelines since I'm alone."

"It is an interesting list. But we don't have time to elaborate. We must continue towards the Black Desert." He got to his feet and headed into the bathroom, closing the door; moments later, the shower began to run and Leila tried to busy herself with finding her shoes and gathering their things. Apollo was resting on his side, wagging his tail in his sleep.

She made sure to change quickly before he came out of the bathroom, and was sure to be ready when he emerged in a black fitted polo and dark denim jeans with his boots. His beard was beginning to grow back along his jawline and his mustache was growing thicker and thicker with each day.

"You sure do make rugged look cool," she commented. _More like sensual. Wait a minute? When did I start saying sensual?_

"Rugged?"

"Yeah. It's a look where a guy has facial hair that hasn't been shaved or trimmed for a few days, yet he still maintains his balance of masculinity and etiquette. A lot of men do it; you make it look better than most I've seen." He stared at her, his brows slightly raised, his lips curled up and before he could say anything, she was out the door, toting her bag as fast as she could to avoid the awkward situation. He had never looked so...surprised? Embarrassed? Pleased? She couldn't make out his expression, but it didn't look right, and she didn't like the feeling she was getting from standing there with him.

_Since when was it awkward for me to be alone with him? We've been alone millions of times in the past. The sooner we find this place, the better. Maybe the other Assassins can teach me how to make knives or something; just as long as I'm away from __Altaïr_.

They loaded up the back of the truck and piled inside, the heat rising from the hood of the trunk as he turned over the engine. Just as he was about to pull off, someone knocked on Leila's window and she jumped, hitting her head on the roof.

"Ouch! What the heck was that?" she mumbled, looking up at the person only to feel dread wash over her entire body. It was a police officer. Slowly, she rolled down the window, her heart thudding as loud as the engine roaring in her ears.

"Can we help you, officer?" she asked innocently. His sunglasses hid his eyes from view, and his slick black hair fell in waves as a sugar cane stick hung from his lips. Strange.

"Yes, you can. You passed through the Israel-Egypt border yesterday afternoon, did you not?" he asked. "A Mr. and Mrs. La'Ahad?"

When he mentioned Altaïr's last name, she wanted to die. The Templars had caught up with them.

"Yes, we are," her faux husband replied, finally turning off the engine. The officer stood there for a moment, staring hard at them before he removed his glasses, revealing solid green irises, his pupil as small as a fleck of dirt. Leila didn't care for his uncanny demeanor, yet his eyes intrigued her, as did the long scratch across his nose.

"You'll both have to come with me. Someone that I know wants to meet you, and bring your things." Leila looked at Altaïr and he got out of the car; she followed, formulating different plans of escape in her head. The officer hadn't taken his eyes off of her yet as she grabbed her bag.

"Nice Malamute. What's his name?" he asked, petting Apollo, who didn't seem to mind a perfect stranger. To her surprise, he relished in the attention that he was receiving from the police officer.

"Apollo."

"Nice name. He'll be a big Husky. Too bad we don't have any snow." His icy demeanor quickly returned as they slid inside his SUV and buckled in. The radio was turned to the weather forecast with some smooth jazz playing in the background, and he seemed to be too focused on driving to pay attention to them in the back seat.

"What are we going to do?" she asked. The officer looked back for a moment, and she scooted closer to the assassin, her lips practically on his neck. "Do you have a plan to escape?"

"We don't even know what he wants or who we are to meet. He's strange, but he isn't hostile." His voice was soft, but still maintained its baritone tremble.

"How do you know?" she replied, bewildered by his lack of urgency. He looked down at her, "I'll make sure that we aren't separated again." She didn't know why, but the impulse to kiss him overcame her, and so she did. The fresh hair growing on his chin tickled her lips as she pulled away, looking down at the ground. She knew that he was staring at her scalp now, a questioning—and perhaps angered—look on his face.

When she did finally look up, he was still staring at her. But he wasn't glaring; he was looking at her. Not through her, or glowering in a belittling manner; it was as if he had something to say, something profound, but before anything could happen, the door was opened, and Leila looked outside. They were in a warehouse now, steel gray walls on all sides and a metal garage door behind them. There were stacks of rice and other foods in the corners and just one door secured by a number lock.

"Leave your stuff here. We'll come back for it later."

_Oh man. They're gonna kill us, put our bodies in ice chests and then burn our stuff so no one will know. But first they're gonna torture us for information. I don't think I can take seeing Altaïr_ _being hurt for too long. How are we gonna get out of here?_

"How did you know where to find us?" she asked as the officer pushed in the code.

"A last name like La'Ahad? 'Son of None'? It's quite obvious. Just be glad we found you before they did." They?

"Who's 'they'?" she asked again. He opened the door and looked back at them, folding down his ring finger.

Altaïr immediately recognized it and now fully understood where they were."We are at a bureau," he revealed, stepping forward. "Where is the Grand Master?"

"Disappeared. When one of our own killed the former, we scattered. Some of us are in Latin America, the U.K, the Pacific Islands, and some of us stayed here. I'll let Saffri tell you the rest." He motioned them to follow and they did, the garage suddenly turning into a spacious loft-like living quarter with a few people at work on computers, muttering amongst themselves before they came through the door. All eyes were on them and it was eerily silent.

"Everyone is cautious of the stray Assassins that come here. Any one of us could be a sleeper agent, so it may take awhile before everyone warms up to you two," he explained. "The name's Damien, by the way." They went up a flight of stairs, and Leila was beginning to recall all of the conversations that her parents had had when they thought their children were asleep.

_"What if I don't want them to live the way we did when we were younger? What if I want them to live like everyone else, Adamian?"_

"_They can't. We know too much, we're in too deep for them to leave us alone. When Leila and Aasim are adults, they'll come after them and surely kill them. We must train them, we have to send them off."_

_"To where, Adamian? To the farm in the U.S? You think they don't know about that place, too? If they disappear, we need to disappear, too. This life is too tiring. We've lost too much. Too many loved ones are dead."_

"_Honey, we can't give up. That's what they want us to do. Without sacrifice, there can be no victory. The people we loved: your father, my mother, my brothers, they all died for our cause. For the freedom for people to choose how they want to live."_

_"I know, Adamian. But how long? How long?"_

The memory ended, and suddenly everything was beginning to make sense—the late night phone calls, the rigorous training as a child, reading from an old manuscript and memorizing every line, and learning all about an ancient order called the Hashashin. Her parents were trained Assassins, and they only wanted the best for their children. They died before they could disappear and back out of their lives, their true calling as Assassins, and left her and Aasim to decide for themselves whether they would follow in their footsteps by the Assassin order, or live ignorant for the rest of their days.

Aasim was gone, and perhaps had chosen not to become an Assassin, so she was the only one left. What was she to do?

_I will become an Assassin, and help end this war_—_for Mom, Dad, and Aasim. And for anyone else who has died for what we believe in._

"Saffri, we found two more," Damien's loud knock on the door at the top of the stairs cause her to jolt out of her thoughts. _This Saffri guy will answer all of my questions and tell me what the heck is going on._

"Let them inside," the man named Saffri demanded. Damien stood to the side, and they stepped inside the small office before he closed the door. When Leila looked up, a million and one things crossed her mind.

This was a dream.

This was a nightmare.

This was a ghost.

This was her imagination.

This was not real.

It couldn't be.

"Leila?" he asked. He hadn't died. He hadn't even aged a day.

Before anyone could say anything further, the ground was rushing up to meet her and then there was sudden darkness all around her.

* * *

Da-da-dun! Who is this mystery man? I have 3 possibilities! Everyone thinks there are 2 but there are 3! Mwahahaha! I guess we'll find out who this man is in the next chapter. Chapter 20 would have been 10,000 words long if I hadn't ended it when I did. Heehee.

I hope this chapter wasn't rushed or too sparse in details. I kinda had this brain rush in just a matter of hours and I've been typing nonstop for about two hours. Hope it's worth it. Until next time.

Also: Does anyone think that peck on the cheek and Altair's reaction mean anything? They're starting to act really weird around each other, aren't they? Ah, the tendrils of love. Aren't they confusing?

I made a reference to a canon character (the sleeper agent) in the AC series, too. If anyone doesn't know who that is, he's on the Assassin's Creed Wikia. I frequent that place for info for my story. I think I will mention more canon characters, as well, just to make things interesting.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thank you all so much for following me this far into Leila's story! Hopefully, this chapter will kick butt compared to the last one.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**This is when Altaïr and Leila's relationship starts to get interesting. (Another SUPER CHAPTER!)  
**

**©JuneSnow (I changed my name again. ^^)  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Hibiscus and Water Lilies  
**

The two Assassins had been staring at each other for five minutes, like two lions clashing for dominance. If one looked away, or had even blinked, he would lose, and the other would be victorious.

It was a childish game, indeed, but when two _men_ played this game, rather than _boys_, it was different. It reached all the way back to the beginnings of man, a sort of testosterone battle that was innate in every person born with the Y chromosome.

"So...how do you know Leila?" he finally asked. His voice was cool, calm, and collected. Not a hint of anger or hostility towards this very handsome, very dangerous man.

"She and I are friends," he responded promptly.

His steely gray eyes studied his face in a belittling manner. "Just friends? How long have you known her?"

"Two years."

The bigger man's thick eyebrows touched his hairline. "Don't you think two years is long enough to know if you want to be more than friends with someone?"

"What has transpired between Leila and I is not important. If you are curious as to whether I have slept with her or not, then yes, I have." The assassin's words seemed to have struck a nerve; he lost his composure for a moment, his forehead to creasing and folding, and his jaw clenched shut to keep him from shouting obscenities at this arrogant man.

But he did not lose his cool; he merely folded his hands in his lap and smiled. "So she finally grew up, got herself a boyfriend and decided to play house. Interesting." This man was obviously unsettled by Leila's behavior; perhaps it was not what he expected from her. "I guess we're all surprised when we think we know someone and they do a complete 180," he did a circular motion with his pointing finger. "As long as you two are here, however long that may be, you two won't be sharing a room. She'll stay with a fellow female Assassin until her gunshot wound is better, and you can bunk alone if you want. Speaking of which, how did _that_ happen?"

"Leila and I were in your home when the Templars attempted to steal the sword. We were both distracted when the shooter aimed, and she put herself in front of me to stop the bullet."

His lips grew thin, and his eyes narrowed. "You're obviously the more experienced Assassin, so why'd she end up hurt?"

"Over the period of time that I have lived with her,"Altaïr paused as his opposite flinched for his blade, "I have observed that her nobility is just as notable as her naiveté, and she performed an act that I would have done for her. She has done many things for me that I cannot do for her; therefore, I owe her a great deal."

"This Old World chivalry speech is driving me nuts," he mumbled. "Why don't you relax? Speak normal, everyday English?"

"This is how I was taught to speak English. If Leila were not unconscious, then she would have explained to you that I am not from your time."

His fellow Assassin smiled before a chilled laugh escaped his throat. "You expect me to believe that? Let's say you are from whatever time you came from. Who are you?"

"Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad."

"Wait. _The_ Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad? One of the most well-known Grand Master Assassins in our history? Back from the dead? That would make you almost 900 years old."

"I'm 27 years of age. The time that I was dead is irrelevant. Somehow, the technology of an entity unknown to me resurrected me in Jerusalem, and that is where Leila found me and brought me to her home."

"This just gets better and better," he laughed, rubbing his temples. "What's next, Robert De Sable's gonna come waltzing through Cairo? I have a resource in England who can figure all of this out, and then we'll see if Leila fell in love with someone old enough to be her grandfather a thousand times." There was nothing more to say after that; the least Altaïr wanted to do was wrap his hands around his throat, but Leila wouldn't have appreciated that; yet at this point, he didn't care.

Belittled, despised upon baseless observations, and deemed untrustworthy by someone almost 900 years his junior? That was reason enough to justify his actions, however ruthless and uncalculated they may have been.

Someone knocked on the door, shortly thereafter followed by the round brown face of a woman.

"Yes, Michelle?" he asked. His tone seemed to be softened towards her.

"She's awake, Saffri," she replied.

He looked to Altaïr before he got to his feet. "You can come with me to see her, but don't think you can run off with her when I'm not looking." As they headed down the stairs, the older of the two added, "I have no intentions of running. We were sent to Egypt to look for other Assassins that could help her."

"You don't sound like a man in love." They both stopped in front of the door leading to Leila's room. Michelle was looking on with interest as the two glared at each other.

"I'm not." The female Assassin opened the door just as Saffri asked, "Then why did you s—"

"Leila, Saffri and your friend are here," she gave a warning look to the both of them before she let them inside. Saffri stepped in first, noticing the fresh bandage around her shoulder. Her shirt was gone, and only a satin black bra hid her shining glory from view.

"Maybe Altaïr should wait outside, just until you get a new shirt," he suggested quickly. Leila looked at him with contempt, "He's not turned on by a bra, _Saffri_," she replied. "Why'd you change your name to Saffri?"

"It seemed appropriate, but the more important question is, why are _you_ here, with an infected gun shot wound, with this guy who is claiming that you guys are sleeping together?" His eyes were condemnatory as cold as she shrank further and further into the bed. Leila looked at Altaïr, who was just as nonchalant and calm as ever; how could he have said such a thing?

"He doesn't mean it in the way you think, Aasim. We have _shared_ a bed a few times, but only because we had to. We've never done anything like_ that_," she reasoned. "You know my policy from years ago, don't you?"

Aasim blushed and coughed a few times, "Yeah, I remember. But why did you have to use _that_ analogy? I couldn't eat anything for the rest of the day." He plopped down on the bed, stared at her for a long time, and then put his hand on her head. She smiled, her eyes misty and warm.

"I'm sorry. It was the only thing I could think of," she laughed. Her smile quickly faded. "I really thought you were dead all this time. The body, the luggage...it all looked so real." Leila couldn't stand it any longer; she hugged her older brother tight, burying her face into his chest. "I just want to know you're real," she whispered, smelling the musky cologne in his clothes.

"I'm here, Leila," he replied, holding her tight. "I'm back from the dead."

* * *

She seemed quite content with being reunited with her brother; it is a concept I cannot understand, for I have never had any siblings. My mother died while giving birth to me, and my father passed before he could remarry. So I am alone in this world.

It was quite natural for us to spend less and less time together as they became reacquainted with one another. I was free to 'tag along' as they both said on separate occasions, and the few conversations I heard between them were quite interesting.

I hadn't known that they had an older sibling from their father's previous marriage that left years ago until Leila mentioned him by name, Kaleb Saffar. He was currently living in the United States under a different name that the Templars had easily traced back to Israel, and now he was nowhere to be found.

For the next several days, I observed different aspects of Leila's personality surface when she was relaxed and open to conversation. She knew many jokes that the other Assassins found to be quite humorous; one female named Tali had water come out of her nose. When Aasim made her laugh, she made a sound that I didn't know existed. It was very rich and untamed, like a hotheaded Arabian stallion.

She was very intelligent and knew much about the planet's cycles, the animals native to the region, and even managed to outsmart the historian of the group. They practically argued every time they spoke, but there was no air of hostility; mere friendly competition, which was more than I could say about my brothers.

Leila wants children. I hadn't known until she spoke to the only pregnant Assassin in the bureau for almost an hour one day. She allowed her to put her head on her stomach and listen to the life growing inside of her, and she expressed joy in the miracle of life. I recall her exact words to be, 'When I get pregnant, I want a boy first and then a girl.' And then she glanced at me.

I do not know what she meant by that action, but we had never expressed romantic notions to one another. We had never become physically intimate or inflamed in the flesh, and I do not recall misleading her with my words. An Assassin could not compromise the order with something as insipid as love, yet why does the longing to be loved belong to every man and woman with flesh on their bones and blood in their veins? How does the order continue to grow and expand, if not out of love, then is it compulsion?

_She_ was to be the one to lay my blade to rest. I had decided that she would make me a normal man once again. And now, that decision was forever deferred by the voids of time that separated us. If I were in 1190, would I be able to find her? And if so, alive? She was the Chalice, an item of great importance to them, but as with all objects, they are done away with after they no longer have use.

What if I had sailed every sea, unaware of her body in the depths, searching for her, calling out her name through rain and shine? I would have lived my entire life searching for a ghost, and returned to the earth as I had been brought into this world: alone.

Her face, her scent, her warmth is nothing but a glimpse in my mind now. I cannot recollect our times together, the nights we talked, the days we slept—washed away by the life that I was suddenly thrust into in this time. I cannot measure the fairness of life for anyone, not even for myself, so why waste time trying? All that is left to do is move forward with time and use what I have left to the best of my ability.

* * *

I don't know why Altaïr decided to stalk me in the shadows like he would someone he wanted to kill, but it was beginning to creep me out. If he wanted to come along, he should have just walked with me wherever I went. He makes it so obvious that he doesn't know what to do when I'm not with him. It's understandable, though, not knowing much about the ever-changing world, and of course, no assassination targets for miles on end. Haha.

And why did he say that he and I were sleeping together, like we're married or something? Sure, there were a few cold nights and that one time a few days ago, but those didn't mean anything! We didn't even kiss goodnight. Not that I wanted to. Aasim grilled me for thirty minutes straight about how important it is to be ready for children as a consequence of lust—_lust_, really? Even though he believed me, we still can't be alone together. He went nuts like my father would have, warning me about cute guys and how they use innocent young girls for their bodies, all the while pacing back and forth in purple tube socks. How could I take him seriously with his girlfriend's tube socks on? Oh yeah, he's dating now; the cute logistics girl named Michelle from Tanzania 'knocked his socks off' when they first met. So much for being a BFL.

It was really embarrassing to see him standing there when I was talking to Helene about her baby and how I wanted children when I was old enough to take care of them. I smiled at him to hide my fear, but why was I afraid? Of him? Of how he would react when I said that? Of how our relationship would be affected by his hearing our conversation?

It wouldn't change much, if at all. This is _Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad_ we're talking about. Medieval bad boy with a hideously scary scowl. I couldn't imagine him with a wife and kids. Their punishment would probably be hanging upside down in a tree or digging a new well with a shovel.

Besides, he had never even hinted at liking me in that way. Sure, he had held me while we slept, but he was just being a friend in the only way he knew. I couldn't help it if I liked the way it left me feeling. I felt...acknowledged, accepted, loved. I know he doesn't love me, but he's had more of an impact on my life than he realized.

Aasim explained to me that if he hadn't showed up when he did, that I'd be dead or captured by Templars. They had been tracing me ever since I signed the contract that was actually the death of Saffar Oil. Abstergo was a monster, devouring everything and crushing all opposition, but thankfully, my parents were smart enough to hide most of their money beneath the sand in the Black Desert—literally. They made sure to keep enough to last my brothers and I for the rest of our lives, a sum of 3.5 billion pounds. We couldn't touch it yet; there was still too much for us to do before we could relax.

There was still the mystery of Altaïr's sudden emergence in our time, but Aasim didn't know much more about it than we did. His mole said that they were experimenting with genetic altercation and DNA reconstruction, but the results were ugly. Most test subjects crashed and bled out before the initial stages really set in. That division of research was shut down immediately, replaced by a highly confidential project dubbed "Revelation" that no one but the CEO and Vice President of the company knew about, with the exception of a few high-end scientists from different countries. Aasim's mole couldn't get much from his boss, but he did manage to say that they were pleased with the results that they were getting. Whatever that meant, it's not good for us. The bureau in England was lost shortly thereafter.

Learning all of this in just a few days—about Altaïr, Abstergo, my parents, my oldest brother, project "Revelation", and what all of this was going to mean in the near future, it all scared me. I was just a 21 year-old girl from Jerusalem who had never been asked out to the prom, I had never had a boyfriend, never came home 2 o'clock in the morning with the munchies, or had a decent argument with my parents over nothing. I had had nightmares every night about Yusef, about my near-rape. It hadn't happened, but the thought of a man I didn't love connecting with me in such an intimate way, I couldn't take it.

Every day, I woke up with headaches, nausea, and a knife in my hand, ready to slash and tear through anyone close by. I didn't like who I was becoming.

And then there was Zuric. He gave me pills for the headaches and nausea, and his witty, lighthearted view of the situation helped me sleep at night. On the days I couldn't, I went to him and we talked for hours, sometimes until sunrise. Then he would let me sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch outside his door.

Zuric was a nomad from Turkey, so he had lots of stories about how his father traded with pirates, how he had been kidnapped by real gypsies, and his mother's finely spun pashminas that sold for hundreds of pounds. He reminded me of the older handsome sultans from long ago in Arab history, the ones dressed in purple and red with the thick eyelashes and pointy features. He was only thirty-two, but he spoke like he had lived for seventy years.

For some reason, his presence calmed me, and I found myself spending time with Altaïr less and less, until he was just another face that I saw in passing. He had busied himself with training in the spar room and studying the sword, writing down the 'whispers' he heard from it. I could hear them too, but I didn't need anymore nightmares. What I heard was disturbing, yet insightful, and as Solomon wrote, 'He who increases knowledge, increases sorrow.' We eventually stopped speaking after three weeks in the bureau, but he seemed better off without me by his side. Aasim seemed pleased with the distance we had created between each other, and had even taken a liking to Altaïr. I knew they would get along if they had met.

* * *

"You know, Zuric has been spending a lot of time with Leila. Has she been talking to you about him?" Altaïr and Aasim were in the weight room, the older Assassin sharpening his knife as the younger jogged on the treadmill.

"We haven't spoken since we arrived here three weeks ago. I know nothing about Zuric."

He jumped off the treadmill and grabbed a towel, dabbing his sweaty face. "Really? You two have been inseparable for two years, and now you guys don't even say hi after three weeks?" he asked in disbelief.

"We are in a different environment with different people; whoever she decides to associate with is her business."

"Zuric is a cool guy, but when she's with me, all she can talk about is you," he said quietly.

Altaïr snorted, placing his blade in its sheath. "In what way?"

"Leila talks about how you two met and how fictional it sounded. She likes anime, so this part of her life really excites her. You really changed her, Altaïr. She likes you. A lot."

"I'm sure it is some sort of appreciation for the things I have done for her." Aasim put his hand on his shoulder, causing him to look into his hard gray eyes.

"No," he reprimanded firmly. "When she talks about you, her face lights up and she can't stop smiling. I have _never_ seen her talk about someone in that way." They stood in silence for a moment, neither wavering in their stance. "If you don't start talking to her again, you might lose her."

Altaïr stepped out of his reach, replacing his blade on his hip as he spoke, "You can't lose something you never possessed." And with that, he was gone.

* * *

"You see Orion?" he asked, pointing at the three small white circles in the night sky. Her eyes studied the burning balls of gas in the sky.

"Yeah!" she replied excitedly, drawing a line in the air with her finger. "It's so close!"

"This time of year, some constellations are closer than others, like the Aquila constellation."

"Does that one have a lot of stars?" Leila asked, searching the darkened heavens.

"No. There are only three stars: Alshain, Tarazed, and Altaïr is the brightest of the them." Her smile faded, and she looked over at Zuric. "What's wrong?" She sat up, staring hard at the grayish blue pyramids off in the distance. Hearing his name had never hurt her heart before.

"Nothing," she whispered.

He sat up with her and put his hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Leila. I've only known you almost a month, and I already know that you get quiet when something is bothering you. Sabina is the same way."

Sighing, she looked into his dark eyes. "Altaïr is the name of the guy that I came here with."

He nodded in understanding. "You miss him."

"I guess I do, but he doesn't care. Before we met, he was always alone, and he admitted that he's better off by himself. Whenever we were in danger, he always went ahead and forced me to stay behind, like I can't defend myself."

"A man can say one thing and mean another. He probably wants to keep you safe, unable to bear seeing you hurt. Again."

"I doubt that; I only got in his way," she muttered. "If he wanted to be my friend, he'd be here right now."

"Didn't Aasim have something against you two being together all the time?" he asked.

"Yeah. But now _he's_ the one always around Altaïr. He was _my_ friend before he was Aasim's."

"Have you ever thought that maybe Altaïr has residual feelings for someone else?" _Adha._ That name brought a certain nervousness to her muscles, even though the woman was dead and buried somewhere in Masyaf.

"He's had dreams of a woman named Adha, but he's never talked about her. I think he knew her from where he grew up."

"Then maybe he's afraid of letting her go, like some sort of betrayal to what they had by cultivating something more with you."

She ducked her head against the warm wind, her eyes distant and sad. "And knowing Altaïr, an oath is an oath to the grave."

* * *

The next time Altaïr saw Leila, she did not seem pleased to see him or anyone for that matter. She looked as if she hadn't slept in days, yet Zuric had insisted on keeping her on her feet instead of in a bed where she should have been. Was he that desperate for her attention?

Disinterest was written all over her face; he could see the desperation in her tired eyes. The Assassin approached the two of them directly, startling this scraggly ruffian to the point that he spilled some of his water—the result that he had desired from him. Zuric looked on as the two finally spoke to one another.

"Altaïr?" Leila's voice had changed yet again, as if she were a pubescent child. She sounded more mature.

He could see the glint in her eyes upon seeing her friend. "There are still some of your things in my room; come with me if you want them, otherwise they will be thrown away." She hunched her shoulders and followed him to his sleeping quarters upstairs. Aasim did not smile or frown when they passed by his office; just a mere nod of acknowledgement.

When the two got to the room, she scanned it for her things and then looked at him. "We haven't talked in weeks. What things are you talking about?" Altaïr closed the door, and then walked towards her slowly. His eyes were solid and cold, and she immediately reminisced to Yusef and her horrid moments with him before his death.

"No!" she screamed, backing herself into a corner, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. "I'd rather die a thousand times!" He moved around the bed separating them, his hands cautiously extended before him.

"Leila, I'm not going to hurt you." His voice was sincere and warm.

She fell onto the covers, sobbing. "I just want this to be over," she moaned, pounding her fists into the mattress. Altaïr reach down for her and brought her into his arms, resting his chin on her head.

Leila was always so warm, so soft, so inviting. He hadn't realized how much these sensations calmed his own soul. There were some nights when the Assassin would absent-mindedly reach out for her in the middle of a dream, expecting to feel her smooth skin against his hand. Yet, he was met with cold sheets and an empty space.

"Zuric gives me pills for the headaches and nausea, but—"

"Are you ill?" he asked quickly. His grip on her tightened.

"I don't know, but I keep thinking about Yusef and it makes me sick. I have night terrors, too." She leaned against him and they fell back against the bed. Their eyes met as he pressed her further with questions.

"What about?"

"Yusef. He's always chasing me down this long, dark road and it never ends. And just before he gets me, you appear," she stared into his eyes, her own brown and warm. "And you save me. Every time." She leaned in, her breaths small and short as she reached up, placing her small, warm hand on his cheek. "You're my only friend."

Suddenly, Aasim came through the door, looking down at a glass bottle, "I know Assassins aren't supposed to—" He looked up and Leila felt her face burn hot with embarrassment.

"U-um..." she stuttered. "We fell over the bed, and—"

"No. Just stop. Right there," he put his hand up. "I know you're gonna say, 'It isn't what it looks like,' so I'll ignore this just once. Dad would die if he saw this," he stated with disappointment. She started to say something, yet held her tongue as she glared at Altaïr before she pushed him off of her and stormed out of the room.

Aasim closed the door behind him. "Altaïr, when I said to help her, I didn't mean _help yourself_ to her!" he hissed.

"I did nothing to induce that situation," Altaïr reasoned coolly. "And now she is upset with me." He seemed a little annoyed by the last fact.

"Well, she'll forgive you, but you need to do something that will make her like you again soon."

The older Assassin made a displeased hissing noise, dismissing the idea. "I will not make a fool of myself to curry favor with a woman."

"Altaïr, your arrogance is showing. You have to make a sacrifice on the altar of dignity." Now upset, he got to his feet and stormed out of the door, leaving Aasim by himself. "I tell you, old people are _so_ stubborn," he muttered to himself.

* * *

"How'd you guys end up in _that_ situation?" Michelle asked, biting into a frozen ice cream bar. It was the next evening, and Leila did _not _want to see Altaïr. He deliberately sat next to her for breakfast and she got up and sat next to Zuric, holding an evidently delightful conversation. And what was more, she spent the entire day with him, occasionally putting her hand on his arm as they engaged in mindless banter.

"We were talking, and then the next thing I know it, we're on the bed. But the strange thing is..." she trailed off, staring at the canvas of the hammock.

"Go on. I'm listening."

"Neither one of us seemed to care how awkward it was until Aasim came in. I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't..."

"Nothing," Michelle finished for her. Leila looked up into her eyes. "If Altaïr is as controlled as you say he is, then nothing would have happened. Do you know how badly Aasim wants to kiss me?"

"You two have never kissed?" she asked quietly.

Now Michelle looked like an embarrassed teenage girl more than a twenty-five year old, smiling sheepishly. "We don't want to do anything that could escalate into something we can't control. He wants to get married, but..."

"But what?"

"He wants to wait until we know we won't have to hide anymore. He thinks it's soon, but I don't know. It seems we've been hiding for centuries, but it's only been three years. This war is getting tired; _I'm_ tired."

Someone behind them cleared their throat, and Michelle took the liberty of addressing the person. "Altaïr, hi!" She looked at Leila. "Let him talk," she whispered before she got up. "I'll leave you two alone."

Leila looked him over once, folding her arms across her chest. He seemed a little less on edge and less threatening now that his beard was gone.

He stepped forward. "I noticed that you like exotic flowers."

"Yeah," she replied, raising her left brow.

"Egypt is known for its _Nymphaea caerulea_ that grows along the Nile." He stood next to her, looking out at the Cairo city lights.

"What's that?"

"The water lily. There are many different species but the lilac-colored variety is most well-known in this area. It has many roots in Egyptian mythology with their sun-god, Ra," he spoke as if one word.

The more he spoke, the wider her eyes became. _What is he trying to do?_ _If spitting out a bunch of facts is his way of apologizing, I'm not having it._ "You know a lot about the lily."

"It has a euphoric effect if inhaled or consumed in some way and makes you delighted, but that is not what I'm here to tell you. I wanted to give you—No, I have something—There is something I have..." he seemed to be getting angry with himself and stopped talking. At any moment, she thought his head was going to explode from thinking too hard.

"What are you trying to say?" she asked softly. He stared into her eyes for a moment, and then quickly shoved a small object into her hands, his hands over hers. His head was still down as he whispered, "The lily has a special meaning."

Confused, she looked up at him just as he raised his head. He thumbed the side of her face and kissed her cheek, his lips warm and soft against her skin. "I'm sorry." He turned and walked away before she could say anything, and looked down at the object. It was an auburn porcelain flower pot with a purple water lily suspended in water. There was a small, white square tied to it, and Leila opened it slowly.

_"Although the hibiscus is not related to the lily and you are not a flower, they are all delicate and beautiful_.

_~Altaïr"_

She stared straight out at the city, her cheeks stained red. "Oh."

* * *

Yay! Another super chapter! Was the ending as cute as I wanted it to be? Altaïr doesn't seem to be the guy who's into romantics, nor is he into flowers, being the manly man he is. I tried to pass it off as this awkward apology gone wrong (on his end), if you didn't notice the rambling he was doing. There will be more. Oh yes, there will be more. I will humble Altaïr some more and then he'll be back to his normal self, maybe. ^^ But it's so cute! I could go on forever with this kinda mush.

If I could draw the exchange and kiss, that would be so cute, even in chibi mode.

Until next time.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Thank you all so much for following me this far into Leila's story! I really REALLY appreciate everyone's positive, uplifting responses and reviews! They make me feel good about writing this story, even though I highly doubt UbiSoft is even considering something this farfetched. It's for fun, right? :D  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**Altaïr and Leila will get a MUCH needed break from the Templars for now. But trust me, they will be back...  
**

**JuneSnow©  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Parallel Sentiments**

_"Although the hibiscus is not related to the lily and you are not a flower, they are all delicate and beautiful._

~_Altaïr_"

Leila could not sleep at all. She lay face up to the ceiling for hours, reminiscing on his words. It was as if he was speaking to her as she read those words—written with _impeccable_ handwriting, unlike most men she knew.

_Altaïr_ told me that I was beautiful and that he was sorry. I guess it wasn't that serious, but Aasim walked in on us in an awkward situation. And why did he corner me like that? He knows what I have to deal with after that night with Yusef. She turned onto her stomach, closing her eyes as she hugged the pillow, which was warm and soft, like his lips; she remembered exactly how they felt on her cheek.

_And he didn't have to kiss me, either. I know it was probably a friendly gesture, but it didn't feel like it to me. I wanted him to really kiss me, as selfish as that sounds, but he loves Adha, and that's probably the only girl he'll ever fall for.  
_

Sighing, Leila turned onto her back, looking up at the ceiling again.

_Will I ever have a chance with someone like __Altaïr_?

* * *

The assassin lay face up, his eyes on the moon peering through the glass ceiling window. He was not unfocused, restless or nervous. He was confused, and it was an emotion so far removed from him.

He always knew what he was doing. He always knew what to say. He always knew how to react. Yet, why could he not simply tell her sorry and give her the dreaded plant? It was as if some sort of trickery had overcome his tongue, causing it to lash and whip, unbridled and unruly.

She did not even seem to be pleased to see him, and the look she gave him—he had never seen it before. Her face was almost unrecognizable. And when he kissed her—_oh_, why had he done that? The desire felt right and his motives were pure, but his mind wanted him to be prompt and aloof as always. His heart had taken over, but just for a moment and until he was away from Leila.

Even now, he had to admit that he yearned for her company, her warm presence next to him. He did not want to act improperly towards her or himself; it just felt right and natural for her to be there.

* * *

_They were both watching television, a program called 'WWE' with big sweaty men in underwear throwing each other around a square pen._

_"What is the purpose of this?" he asked, his brows furrowed._

_"To tire out and pin your opponent to win. It's really exciting, isn't it?" she replied enthusiastically._

_"I'm not fond of watching scantily clad men_ _fondle one another; it is quite contrary to what you call entertainment."_

_"Bah," she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You're just afraid you'll lose. Besides, I saw you checking out Layla when the divas came on."_

_"Excuse me?" he demanded. She giggled, tossing another kernel of popcorn into her mouth. _

_"I know you like pretty women just as much as any guy does, but you don't have to admit it. I think she'd win if you two got into it."_

_"She is a woman with limited skill in combat, and I have been trained as an Assassin my entire life; the odds are against her."_

_"Really?" Leila asked, putting down her bowl of popcorn, eyeing him suspiciously from her side of the couch. "Then prove it!" Before he could react, she was on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and wrestling him to the floor. He didn't expect Leila to move from one end of the chaise to the other so quickly without hurting herself._

_"If this is a game, you will lose," he warned her, trying to detangle her limbs from around his body. He could smell the woody soap on her skin as she held onto his back for dear life._

_"You can't even get me off," she teased. He rolled onto his back, crushing her under his full weight. "Oof! How much do you weigh, 500 pounds?" she complained. He felt her grip loosen, but she was no quitter._

_He rolled away from her flattened body, yet she was on him again, sitting on his stomach in just her shorts and a T-shirt that read, 'Beat It!'._

_"See? You can't even win against me," she sneered, leaning in close to his face. "You lose." _

_His face was eerily blank as he stared up at her. "The only reason I haven't pinned you is because I don't want to hurt you."_

_"Fine." She grinned evilly, sliding her warm hands under his shirt. "I know your weakness, anyway."_

_"Leila, don't—" Before he could finish his warning, her fingers were running up and down his sides like little parades of feet. _

_"Give up!" she shouted, moving closer to his ribs. He remained silent as he thrashed left and right, unable to throw her off._

_To her surprise, he began to laugh, and she paused for a moment, her heart ceasing to a crawl. It was a beautiful sound—divine, pure, free. He took that moment to roll over, and pin her by her wrists underneath him._

_"You laughed," she noted with a smile. "You should do it more often." Despite the fact that he had her in a position that he could do anything he wanted with her, she didn't seemed fazed by it. She was open to him, unconcerned, innocent, inviting. She trusted him.  
_

_This aching feeling crept into his mind as he stared at her and he rested his head against her chest, hearing the soft beating of her heart. He closed his eyes and let her hands go, only to have them enmesh themselves with his hair._

_"What's wrong, ____Altaïr_?" Her voice was laced with worry, and perhaps even fear. 

_This was not what he wanted. He did not want her to care about him. He did not want her to grow fond of him. _

_Because he would have to do the same for her._

_He got to his feet quickly, ignoring the cheering crowds on the television and rushed upstairs before she could even fully sit up to analyze what had just happened._

* * *

"They've disappeared."

"_What?_" the older man demanded, getting to his feet. This was not a good day for him. His wife had served him with divorce papers, his damaged car's repair costs exceeded eight thousand dollars, and now the Assassins that he was _so_ close to capturing had vanished.

"They made it past the Egyptian border and just...went poof."

"'Poof'?" the older man mocked, slamming his mug on the glass table. He marched right up to the man no older than 30 and stared him right in the eyes. "Do you think this is a game? That this is just a hobby of mine?" He paused for a moment, but didn't give the young man a chance to respond. "This is my _job_. Those sneaky, slimy cowards keep getting away and you think _now_ is the time to joke when we have a little more than a year to get everything ready? I would ask for your head, but there are other ways to punish you for your lack of urgency. Get out of my face, before I change my mind about killing you." He didn't hesitate to practically sprint out of the room without saying a word as his superior collapsed into his chair.

'If we don't find them soon, our entire agenda changes. There must be a way to lure them out into the open...' He stared hard the white shiny tiles on the floor until the door opened again. "Frank, I thought I told you to—"

"—You chased him away like he'd blown up the laboratory, David," a much deeper, colder voice said. David quickly got to his feet and bowed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rikkin. I wasn't expecting a visit from you."

"You'll be seeing me a lot more often. It's just about finished."

His brows arched up in surprise. "Finished? H-How?"

"Let's just say we found someone more...willing to comply. The process went much smoother than we predicted. If we continue at this pace, it'll be complete in a month's time."

"A month?" he asked excitedly. "It's so soon, but I'll be ready for the process once all is done up there." Rikkin's smile resembled a grimace.

"Good. They'll never see this coming."

* * *

"What happened yesterday?" Aasim asked. Altaïr had taken a liking to the heavy bag after he discovered the loose 'skin' hanging over the sides of his pants—something Aasim called 'love handles'. (He didn't understand because there was nothing to love about these strange developments.) Without the usual rigor that came with sprawling across rooftops and sifting through heavily populated streets, the only way to fulfill his share of physical activity was to exercise in a controlled environment.

"I apologized."

"Did she accept it?" he asked excitedly. The older assassin began to punch a little harder, feeling the individual beads inside the bag brush against his hands. He remembered everything: the soft, innocent scent in her clothes, the relaxed warmth of her face...

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" he asked, sounding exasperated. "Did she smile? Laugh?" He remembered leaning in, studying the healthy, plump texture of her lips before he...

No. "She didn't say anything; I left before I could see her reaction to the flower." Aasim's jaw dropped.

"What? Dude, you had to work up all that nerve, buy the pot and find the flower, write whatever you told her—wait, what did you write on that little white thingy?" Altaïr continued punching the bag as if he hadn't heard him. "Altaïr..." He grabbed the punching bag, and gave him a hard stare with his steely gray eyes. "Spill."

"No."

"No?" he seemed surprised. "Why not? Was it something dirty?"

"Of course not. But what I wrote is none of your business; it's mine and Leila's."

"And Leila is my sister, so _her_ business is _my_ business!" he replied, pounding his chest like a gorilla. The older assassin didn't fully understand the dynamics of Aasim's feelings towards his sister until he started hitting on himself like a madman. He loved his sister and wanted to protect her from any and everything. The ties of blood were stronger and deeper than anything he had ever seen.

"I will not tell you how to love your sister, but she is an adult woman with her own life. There are certain aspects of her life that you should not and cannot tread heavily upon."

"You're gonna tell me what you wrote on there before you leave this room."

"I'm not obliged to tell you anything," he replied coolly.

"Don't be a chicken," he taunted, squawking a few times. Altaïr turned to him, bewilderment in his eyes. "You're just afraid I'll laugh at your love confession."

"Do not throw such accusations around," he growled.

"Fine. Then if it's not a love confession, then tell me. It shouldn't be that much of a secret."

"It is for busybodies who insist on getting their way."

"Hey!" Aasim actually sounded offended. "I have a right to be a busybody in Leila's life. I'm her older brother and have been for 25 years. That includes knowing which beef head she wants to spend the rest of her life with."

"You were absent during the years that she needed you the most. If I weren't there, she would have died." Aasim stood face to face with him and poked his chest, his nostrils flaring.

"Don't turn this into a conversation about me! This is about you and Leila!"

Altaïr slapped his hand away, his hazel eyes furious and white hot. "If you insist on fighting, I will not walk away. And you will not win."

* * *

"It'd be easier to see how he feels about you if you guys went out," Michelle suggested. Leila spit out her water, scowling at the older woman.

"As in on a date? No way. He comes from a time when the bride and groom didn't see each other until the wedding day. He won't know what to do."

"Well, exactly _what_ do you want him to do? Hold hands with you, hug you, kiss you good night?" Her young friend made a face and she laughed. "Just relax and act normal. Just go walk through the city, eat dinner, hang out somewhere for a while, then come back. Completely harmless."

"But..." Leila blushed, "What if he wants to kiss me again? I can't handle that. What if he wants _more_ when we get home? And no one else is awake, and it's warm in here—"

"Whoah, Leila, slow down! You're over-analyzing this whole situation. If a guy really likes you, he won't get mad if he can't hit a grand slam on the first date. He'll wait as long as you want him to. Altie seems to have enough patience, so he won't be groping you every chance he gets." _Altaïr groping me...a disturbingly pleasant thought..._Leila mused. _I'm gonna die for thinking of my friend like this..._

"Just take one step at a time. Cross each bridge when you get to it. Now go ask him out," Michelle said with a wide grin.

"What? N-no. Where are we gonna go?"

"There's a movie theater, a few night clubs, a couple of lounges, a bar for old cronies, and then there are tons of outlet stores. Just...y'know, normal stuff for young people to do! Have you ever been out on a date?"

"No," she answered sadly. "I've hung out with my friends, but not with any guys I liked. So I'm new to this. And Altaïr and I are _not_ dating. We're friends."

"Right," Michelle dragged out, braiding her curls into a neat plait. "So says the girl blushing over a kiss on the cheek." Leila felt her cheeks flush and begin to burn, and she quickly jumped off the bed.

"I have to go," she muttered, ignoring the loud, raucous laughter coming from Michelle's room. As she walked the halls of the warehouse, she began to think objectively about everything that seemed to be happening very fast—too fast.

_I always wondered how long it took for a guy and a girl to change from being friends to a couple; it doesn't take much. I'll admit that I like Altaïr, but what can we do with that if he feels the same way? Nothing. We're in the middle of a war between Templars and Assassins; do we have time for romance and love? Every day that goes by can be the day that we're discovered, captured, and killed. Say we do fall in love, and one of us dies. One will have to live without the other. I wouldn't want him to live like that. If I ask him, he won't answer. So I'll wait for him to say something, if that ever happens. I just have to give him the opportunity..._

As she walked by the gym room, she heard a lot of commotion, like someone was throwing things around. There were voices, and both sounded strikingly familiar. She stood next to the door and pressed her ear against it.

"...admit it to her, or I'll break your arm!"

"...follow through with that threat. I have you pinned..."

"...without knowing you love her, you'll..."

"...never said such a thing..." The last few thoughts were all she needed to hear. Was that conversation about her? Maybe that was the closure she needed so that they could stay friends. If so, this night out wouldn't be so awkward. It was like waiting to hear the damage report on the Titanic—she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it, but when she did, it wouldn't be good.

He didn't like her.

He didn't love her.

He was an Assassin, sworn to protect peace and freedom—not to play house with a little girl.

Leila turned away from the door, her feet adhered to the ground. Her throat was burning, her eyes were stinging, her fists were clenched. Why did it matter so much that this Assassin didn't want her?

Just when she thought the first tear was going to fall, the gym door opened wide, and she turned around. There stood the one man that made her heart do somersaults, and her brother behind him. They were sweating, breathing hard and heavy, and the benches were upturned and towels were everywhere. She didn't even want to know what had happened while they were talking. Men are...weird.

"Leila..." he breathed. She had never heard him so relaxed before. Their eyes met for a moment, and she looked away before the tears could fall. He was searching her face in that brief reverie, and a look of pity crossed his features; she didn't want his pity.

"I should go," she whispered, turning on her heels and storming down the hall. He stood there for a long moment, wondering what had made her so upset. Perhaps she had been listening. He would have to talk to her soon to avoid any more controversy.

"Dude, I think she heard us," Aasim stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Altaïr glared at him for a moment, and then disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Ah, Aasim can be so clueless. And funny at the same time. Sorry I haven't updated in a while; life's been in full effect for the past couple of months. Hahah. I also apologize for the lack of action in this chapter. The next few chapters will be fillers more or less, as in they'll be more conversation and AltaLeila action. Yes, they'll be alone more often, deeper conversations and monologues and in more intimate settings we're used to, like lounges, the mall, restaurants and the like rather than the desert, in the hideout or getting shot at. There's plenty of time for that when the Templars come back.

Michelle called Altair Altie. How cute.

I can't wait for Assassin's Creed III. Connor looks so cool. Maybe I should do a one-shot about him...Hmmm...

Until next time!

-JuneSnow


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I didn't expect so many people to like chapter 23. I thought it was a little silly and thrown together. But judging by the responses, I guess it was okay. Well, this chapter will be more interesting, and I won't say how and spoil everyone's reading. Sorry for updating so late, too. Busy, busy, busy. As promised, here is the update within 4 days of BSP's new chapter (BSP is Beautiful Shade of Pink).  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**JuneSnow©  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: A Much Needed Reprieve, Part I**

This was insane.

This was asinine.

This was necessary.

Her eyes—he had never seen them so confused, so distant, so _hurt_. His brothers had had flames in their eyes with each promotion that he received within the order. Malik had shown cold indifference after their dissonance in the rain.

But this...this he didn't know how to decipher. A woman had never entered and remained in his life this long—and this close. His father and Al Mualim—they had never trained him for the cryptic emotions of the softer sex. It was like attempting to decipher the ancient manuscripts of the Egyptians.

In this situation, Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad did not know what to do. He would find her, and let her speak her mind. Their relationship would stabilize and she would be smiling again.

He knocked on her bedroom door and stood waiting patiently. The stuffy, recycled, metallic air was beginning to bother him, like a fly zipping to and fro in his ears. It was too still behind her door for her to be flitting about. Perhaps she was on the bed, silent, with tears in her eyes, knowing that it was him, and was refusing to answer.

"Leila," he stated firmly. Silence. "Leila." No response yet again. He turned the knob; it opened quietly. Her room was dark, the window was open, and the air smelled of wild flowers. The assassin switched on the light and discovered that the bed was empty—disheveled, but empty. In a way, the room fit her personality. A small purple horse sat on her pillow, and the simple nightstand held a small picture that he couldn't distinguish. He moved forward and picked it up, examining the two faces carefully.

It was that same picture he had found in the cave, the one of her bright smile and his contrasting glare. He chuckled to himself and set it back down, his eye catching something shiny and blue.

He picked it up from the floor, and discovered that the material was soft under his fingertips. It looked like it held something in place, but not too heavy and had sequins as if it could to be tightened or loosened. Carefully, he crushed it in his hands, twisted it, and—

The door opened, and in came the woman he was looking for—and almost didn't recognize.

Her hair was curled more than usual and bounced on her shoulders, her eyelids had been painted a bluish-grey color, and she was wearing a cream-colored top that threatened to show where her breasts began with a pair of dark jeans. She froze when she caught sight of him, and the object he had in his hand, and instantly reddened.

"W-what are you doing in here?" she asked in a timid voice, hurrying over to him. A cloud of rosemary attacked his sense of smell, and he was left speechless.

"I was looking for you." Leila snatched the object from his hands and stuffed it in her drawer, and then turned back to him.

"Altaïr, if you're here to apologize about what I heard when you were in the gym with Aasim, don't worry about it." He didn't expect to hear that. "I guess it's about time we make where we stand with each other very clear." He nodded once in understanding, and allowed her to continue. His eyes followed the trail of her tongue as it slid across her lips.

"We are friends, am I correct?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied. She smiled, "Good. If you didn't say yes, I think I would have tackled you to the floor. If that is the case, neither of us are interested in taking this relationship further, right? It would make things very complicated around here: Aasim would die, there'd be tension everywhere, and I hate tension. We know each other well enough to know what's being friendly and what's being strange."

"What you heard inside the gym was nothing. Aasim was being a busybody and making assumptions and forming conclusions about something that he knows nothing about. If I were interested in any other woman in this compound, he would not bother with me." When he looked up, her eyes looked as if she were surprised, but he did not address it. "What happens between you and I is our business, unless either of us asks for a second opinion. Having Aasim and Michelle scrutinize our relationship will only make it difficult." Her face dropped, and he felt his heart wrench.

"Oh," she muttered, sounding disappointed.

"What is it?"

"...I was going to ask you if you wanted to go with us into the city." The pleading look in her wide eyes made him uncomfortable.

"For what purpose?" His voice almost sounded like a snarl.

"Just to...relax, spend some time away from this stuffy metal prison," she laughed uneasily. She shifted from foot to foot and tugged at the hem of her shirt. A part of him wanted to decline so that he may spend some time alone in his room, clean his blades, and then watch an interesting program called 'Scarred' on the television. Yet the other urged him to consider the other option.

"What time are we to leave?" Her eyes twinkled as he accepted the invitation, and all of her nervousness faded away. Something about her chipper demeanor made him feel lightheaded and weighed down at the same time. Perhaps the air was becoming too warm to inhale.

"If you feel like you're dressed to leave, then we can go now." He looked down at himself—a fitted navy blue T-shirt, dark denim jeans, and his boots. "You look fine; now let's go!"

* * *

_This _was their idea of fun? Getting into a contraption that carries you almost higher than where the eagles soar, only to plummet down to the earth at headache-inducing speeds over and over again? The assassin didn't understand why some volunteered to get on, smiling and happy, only to be crying and screaming as if they had lost a limb after it was over. He was insane for acquiescing to his three companions' request.

While he was fighting the urge to heave everything he had eaten into the bushes nearby, Michelle, Aasim and Leila were occupied with raucous laughter and jesting with each other. One other passenger had run off, her face carrying a green tint, and he could hear her retching close by. The noise was discomforting, and urging his stomach to do the same when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

He looked down at her, the concern shining in her eyes. "Are you okay? You don't look too good."

"I'm fine," he stated firmly, trying to keep his tingling jaws from watering.

"Dude, you look like you're about to spew your guts!" Aasim slapped him hard on the back. The assassin felt something rising up from the pit of his stomach to his throat and he closed his eyes.

"Aasim, leave him alone!" Michelle reprimanded him, tugging him towards the spinning tea cups.

"Come on, Altaïr. Let's get something to drink," Leila suggested, her hand on his back as she led him to the concession area and sat him down on the nearest bench. One of the cashiers had a smile that quickly faded when she saw the beads of sweat on his face, and the sickly green hue in his cheeks.

"Whoah, is he okay?" she asked, already going for a cup.

"No. He doesn't like roller coasters. Can we get a cup of Sprite?" she asked hurriedly, looking from her uncomfortable friend to the girl. She filled it quickly, took Leila's money, and watched as she put the cup to his lips. "You have to drink this; it'll calm your stomach." Altaïr eyed it suspiciously, then gulped it down. His nausea subsided a little, and the more he drank, the less ill he felt.

When the cup was finally empty, "Thank you," he breathed.

"You looked awful," she replied with a smile. He glared at her, and she laughed, a reaction that caught him off guard. "It's true. But we don't have to go back on it again. Aasim is a thrill seeker."

"So it seems." A pregnant silence overcame them, and she noticed that her hand was very close to his, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. Immediately, she got to her feet.

"Maybe we should go find Michelle and Aasim," she suggested without looking into his eyes. He got up and walked alongside her through the crowds, looking for the now familiar mess of tresses that belonged to Michelle and the obsidian curls of Aasim's head. "Where'd they go?"

"We'll keep looking. They won't leave without us."

Once they reached the mini-games, Leila stopped at the baseball throwing. "Oooh. I'd try it, but my arms are weak," she complained. "Hey! Why don't you try? It's not going to make you throw up," she teased, elbowing him gently in his side. He watched one teenage boy pick up the ball and hurl it at the bottles, sending them in every direction. He received a hat and a bigger ball for knocking them all down.

"Aw, come on!" she groaned, pushing him towards the stand.

"5 pounds for 3 balls, 10 pounds for 8," the worker said with disinterest. "If you knock down all 28 pins at one time, you get your money back."

"I only need one," Altaïr said before she could ask for any, and she stood back, watching with keen interest. The worker looked slightly curious, yet skeptical as he handed the ball to the assassin.

"You sure you only need one ball? Nobody has done it, but you still need to pay for 3 balls," he commented with a demeaning smile. Leila handed him a single bill. Altaïr remained silent, gripping the ball in three fingers. His projectile was larger and heavier than a dagger, yet his target seemed to be light in weight, and spread out, making his task slightly challenging.

_If he can get a bull's eye with darts, then this is a walk in the park for him _Leila thought, studying the veins in his arms as he wound up for the throw. She could see the muscles in his back and shoulders at work, and remembered when he carried her down the cliff side in Masyaf. With one swift motion, the ball pummeled through the air, and the bottles looked as if they had exploded. A few lay broken on the ground while a few continued to spin on the table. The worker's jaw was agape and Leila cleared her throat, drawing his attention.

"I guess that 5 pounds belongs to me?" she opened her palm and he gave it back, muttering under his breath. He didn't even bother to congratulate Altaïr as he handed him a large stuffed wolf. "You sure proved him wrong," she smiled, her palm in the air. He gave her a slight quizzical look, and she took his hand, slapped hers against it and continued walking. He looked down at his hand, feeling the blood rushing through it.

"It's called a high five. Come on; I want some cotton candy." He trailed her to the stand where clouds of pink, blue and yellow wrapped in plastic sat propped on a carefully decorated stand, and looked on as she uncovered it, ripped a piece off and put it in her mouth. It looked like dyed cotton; why would she put dyed cotton in her mouth?

"Mmm, tasty," she groaned, turning to him. "Want to try? It's sweet," she waved the blue cloud in front of him. He quickly snatched a piece off, slid it into his mouth and processed the flavor. He was not used to eating such eccentric, syrupy food. Apparently the face he was making was quite humorous, and Leila burst into laughter.

"Cotton candy isn't supposed to taste bad!" she giggled. "Oh well. It's not for everyone. We need to find Aasim and Michelle. They probably went through the Tunnel of Love," she said, making a gagging noise.

After a few minutes of walking, Leila stopped, just about ready to give up when she felt something soft being nudged into her arm. It was Altaïr, passing the wolf to her. Confused, she looked up at him. He looked unfocused and irritated, as if she had demanded the stuffed animal from him.

"Here. He is yours." Reluctantly, she took it, looking for further explanation. "The other men here gave their women similar items, so I figured it would only be right that I give it to you. It resembles Apollo," he stated, his voice professional, his words swift and smooth. When she didn't reply, he turned to her; her eyes were misty and wide, and she hugged him, smashing her 'cotton candy' into his chest.

"I know it's just a stuffed animal, but thank you." He began to say something in protest, but decided not to. Instead, he brought her close, unsuspecting of two spectators nearby.

"I told you they like each other, Aasim!" Michelle exclaimed, smacking her boyfriend on the arm. He grumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from his baby sister, who was apparently, all grown up.

"I knew all along. That bozo just wouldn't tell me. I don't get him—he barely shows any emotion, but when he does, it's always negative, like it's the end of the world that someone cares enough to ask him a question."

"Aasim, you know Assassins way back then were trained differently; they couldn't show _any_ feelings of sympathy, compassion, or love. Maybe these are just his repressed emotions on display." He huffed, resting his head on her shoulder. "He just _had_ to release his 'repressed emotions' on my sister," he whined. Michelle turned to him, her hands on either side of his face.

"My brother didn't like how fast you were trying to get _my_ number, remember? And when we had inside jokes, it would drive him crazy, but we still did it because there was nothing wrong with it. Come on, Aasim. You were able to explore your feelings—let her explore _hers._ It's only fair." He looked deep into her chestnut eyes and sighed.

"You always were the discerning one in our relationship. I'll leave them be," he dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand before he brought her close. "But I'm not sure if I can do the same for _you_."

She grinned. "I didn't want you to, anyway," she assured him. Aasim inclined his head and closed the gap between their lips, just as the fireworks went off into the night sky.

"Whoah, fireworks!" Leila exclaimed, looking up at the neon green and red shapes that quickly fizzled into nothing. The sound was deafening, but people didn't seem to mind as they pointed up and began murmuring among themselves. Her eyes fell on the couple that were oblivious to the display, and blushed.

"Well, I found Aasim and Michelle," she informed Altaïr in an amused tone. His attention went to them briefly, and then back to her, noting that her hands were on his chest and his hands were resting on the small of her back. He broke away from her quickly, his back to her, muttering, "It is getting late. We should go."

Leila started to say something, but he was already creating a large gap between them. Exhaling deeply, she grabbed the stuffed dog and trailed behind him, the trail of the fireworks long gone from the sky.

* * *

"Mr. Rikkin! Mr. Rikkin!" the vibrant young scientist exclaimed, her pale cheeks flushed red as she rushed towards him. He was in the middle of a call with an old friend, all smiles until her annoying voice drummed against his ears.

"I'll call you back, Karen," he muttered before slamming the phone on the receiver, glowering at the russet-haired woman. "What is it, Ilana?" he bit out each word. She ignored his condemnatory tone and straightened her pinstripe button-down under her lab coat.

"Project Revelation has finished ahead of schedule. Subject X is completely conscious, fully synchronized and the transition was smooth." The executive almost lost his cool demeanor at the good news—untimely, but good, nontheless. His eyes noted the brown pencil skirt that hugged her curves and stopped just above the knee.

"Good," he grinned. "Is it able to function fully?"

"We are not sure at this point. When we checked the monitors, everything was complete. It was at 12 percent last night; I checked myself. It seems the host and the harvester were better linked than we had anticipated. We can run a few tests to see if he will respond."

"How soon?" he asked, eager to see his billions of dollars in the flesh.

"S-Sir?" she asked, confused, her perfectly arched brow in the shape of an S.

"How long until the tests can begin?" he growled, almost snapping the pen in his hand in half.

"Within the hour, 45 minutes at the most. Until then, sir, what will we do?" she asked, fixing her glasses on her nose. Her perfume was potent, yet it calmed his excited mind as he walked over to the door and locked it. A look of shock and disbelief crossed her features before he turned to her, his large frame swallowing her whole. Her large almond eyes were wide, her lips parted as she struggled for words.

"I can think of one thing that will help pass the time," he chuckled, forcing her body onto the edge of his desk as his arms trapped her. His dark blue eyes were sinister as he removed her glasses, shortly followed by the pin that held her hair in place. Her tresses fell to her shoulders and he snatched them roughly into his fist, exposing her neck.

"Mr. Rikkin..." she drew out, her voice no longer annoying, but quiet and weakly defensive. His teeth nipped the flesh on her neck and she cringed, attempting to push him away. "This is not appropriate."

The massive hulk of a man in the black suit stopped and pulled away to stare into her eyes. His glare was intimidating, cold and calculating. "It would not be _appropriate_ for you to practice insubordination either, would it?" The terrified young woman didn't respond, but instead closed her eyes and let her mind and body disconnect.

* * *

The assassin had not come out of his room since they arrived home after the fair. Michelle and Aasim were in the main room watching movies with the others, while Leila withdrew to her own room, sitting on her bed, hugging the stuffed wolf while Apollo stared at it, waiting for it to respond to his whelps.

_I don't understand what went wrong. One moment, we were hugging, the next, he was practically shoving me to the ground. I mean, is he bipolar or something? We've hugged before; why was this time so different?_

It was 10:07; he wouldn't dare come to her room at this time to talk. She would have to go to him.

Kicking her blankets off of her, she opened her door, marched down the hall to his room and knocked twice. He didn't respond. Sighing, she knocked again, wondering if he were ignoring her on purpose.

"Altaïr, come on! We need to talk," she said, turning her back to the door. It opened wide, and there he stood in a condition that would have made any girl want to go jump into a pond in the middle of winter.

Leila had done well to forget what he looked like without a shirt, and now the image was thrust into her face _again_.

_I can't take this_ she thought, groaning aloud. "What is the matter?" he asked. Apparently, he had been sleeping; his eyes were glossy and disarmed, and he blinked rather slowly—slower than she had ever seen him do. And he had a bad case of bed head, something she found irresistible, unfortunately.

"About tonight, during the fireworks..." she said slowly, pulling at the hem of her over sized T-shirt. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize, Leila." He sounded irritated, and she wanted to cry.

"I feel like I need to because you're upset with me."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"I am not upset with you about tonight," he growled, running a hand through his obsidian locks.

"Yes you are!" she hissed, stomping her foot. "You're growling right now." With one swift motion, he grabbed her by the arm, closed his door, and pinned her between himself and the wall. Leila felt her heart drop into her stomach as he glared at her.

"I am upset now because you have interrupted my sleep with a problem that doesn't exist. It is late, and you are yelling and stomping like a madman. If anything, _you_ are upset about something, but it must wait until tomorrow. Understand?" His pointing finger wagged in her face and she nodded dumbly. "And tonight was eventful, though I did not enjoy the hellish ride in that loud machine. We will do something more tame tomorrow."

"Okay," she peeped, staring into his tired hazel eyes. He released her and she opened the door, turning to face him one more time.

"Good night," he stated firmly, leaving a quick kiss on her cheek.

She turned to leave, stopped, and turned ever so slightly. He too had paused before firmly closing his door, and she hurried down the hall, refusing to make sense of what had just happened.

* * *

Sorry for the late update. Things are starting to finally heat up between those two. They are so helplessly dense. As I said, Altie was made a fool again when he gave her that wolf toy. Wasn't that cute? I wish I could draw it. -sigh- oh well...There was a reversal of roles in this chapter; Altair went to Leila in her room, and vice versa happened at the end. But look what happened!

There will be a part 2 to their down time, and perhaps even a part 3, but it will soon come to an end, and from there, the climax of the story happens, continues through a couple of chapters, and then the lovely conclusion. I'll give this story about 35 chapters, end it with an epilogue and finish my other AC stories. Sound good?

I'm not sure if I clarified in an earlier chapter, but Michelle and Aasim like each other a lot. They never decided to date because their feelings would compromise their mission. As leader of the Assassins in Cairo, Aasim would be in big trouble for breaking that rule, but he obviously doesn't care.

As you can see, the Templars haven't been resting; they're adamant about getting rid of the Assassins. Who is Subject X? We're familiar with numbers not letters...Anyway, that random scene between Rikkin and Ilana is just a glimpse of how things work within the Templar order-well, my version of them, at least. Hope it wasn't too 'WHOAH' for people.

Until next time, thanks you guys so much for supporting this story! I feel good knowing people enjoy my writing. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll go do my happy dance. ^^


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Here is part 2! Sorry for the long delay.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**Side Note: You may see a different side of Leila in this chapter, so be prepared!**

**Sivan IXXX©  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five: A Much Needed Reprieve, Part II**

Her dream felt too real to be mere workings of her brain. She could feel the sun's warmth, his warmth, the gentle vibrations of his voice thudding against her ear drum like the tide against the shore. The air was light and fresh, and everything felt...perfect. Just absolutely perfect.

She was lying on her side in what felt like sand with her eyes closed, but she could feel something nimble and light on the skin of her arm. It traveled up to her shoulder, and then down to her elbow before it glided further down to her hands and fingers before she felt something pulling at her digits and squeezing them ever so gently.

Finally, her eyes opened, and there he was. Smiling. A very unfamiliar sight to her—or to anyone, for that matter. That trademark smirk made him a handsome devil, yet that innocent, wide-lipped grin transformed him into a god, too pure and powerful for any element to destroy.

"To what do I owe the privilege?" she asked. Her impulse was to reach out and let him know that she wasn't uncomfortable with this advancement in their relationship, but she couldn't. It was as if her whole body was asleep, and responded solely to his touch.

"What do you mean?" he asked, moving closer so that he was looking straight down at her. They were too close, much too close at this point, but her heart had yearned for this intimacy for months. It was selfish, downright wrong, but she wanted this.

"Your smile. You've never smiled on any day since I met you. It's...nice. Refreshing."

"Refreshing?" he echoed with a slight chuckle. His green eyes seemed to flicker like candles. "How?"

"I never know how you truly feel unless it's anger or annoyance. So seeing the opposite makes me feel better. Like I've done something right, finally." The assassin gave her a lopsided grin before he thumbed her cheek softly, and she felt her jaws tingle as the blush crept into her skin.

"All of the good things you've done are too many for me to count, but there's no need to when they outweigh the bad, which I cannot recall at this moment."

"Good," she remarked with a smile. It grew quiet, and he leaned in, their lips touching in an awkward, hesitant, and light embrace before he delved in completely. So he wasn't a robot; he was a red-blooded human male with human emotions.

And some of them were for her.

Leila felt her arm sling around his neck, but everything soon faded away, and his voice interrupted their special moment.

"Leila." It was cold and unfeeling, so different from his dream-self, and his rough, brisk shakes of her body didn't make it any better.

"What?" she grumbled, swatting his hand away as she sat up. He looked as if offended by her action, but didn't address it as he replied, "You've been asleep for ten hours; Michelle and Aasim are worried about you."

_But you aren't. No surprise there_ she thought as she glared at him through blurred vision.

"It's called sleeping in. I'm sure they've heard of it. And why'd you have to shake me so hard? Don't you know how to be gentle?" she barked. If she didn't know any better, it looked as if he were surprised by her tone of voice. But it quickly faded away as his hard demeanor returned. "Before you say anything smart, please don't do that again. You can scare someone waking them up like that." Leila peeled back the covers from her legs, exposing her sleeping shorts, and Altaïr glanced down before looking away.

"What?" she snapped. "You've never seen legs before? Well, before you start lecturing me on proper attire for a lady, let me change my clothes." Leila marched to her duffel bag, pulled out some pants and a shirt and disappeared into the bathroom. When she returned, he was waiting by the door, his arms folded across his chest with a blank stare on his face.

"You didn't have to wait for me," she said quietly, running a hand through her ponytail. The dream, and that kiss—it felt so real, but that was not the Altaïr that she knew would snapmare her before he even contemplated _touching_ her.

She felt foolish.

She felt tricked.

She felt...betrayed. Betrayed by her own mind, her moronic heart. _He doesn't want me._ The thought made her stomach churn, but now wasn't the time to get depressed over an issue that she had with herself.

"It would be wrong of me to leave you here. Your brother wants to talk to you. You may not know where he is," he replied coolly.

"Oh," she replied with a nonchalant hunch of her shoulders. He raised a single brow before pushing himself off of the wall and guiding her down the airy hallways of the warehouse.

They walked side by side, and Leila felt his eyes occasionally slide in her direction, as if he were waiting for her to say something.

_The silence is finally getting to him, huh? Well, he better get used to it. I'm tired._ They finally reached Aasim's office up a single flight of stairs, and Aasim opened the door before Altaïr could even knock.

"You finally woke up the bear, huh?" he joked. The older Assassin said nothing in reply, and stepped aside to let Leila enter the room. Her brother noticed her creased forehead and blank stare, and looked to his senior for an answer.

"I did nothing to bring about this mood. You've known her a much more considerable amount of time to know what's wrong with her."

"You're right, but I know nothing about _that_ face. I'm not sure you should leave me alone in this office; she might go exorcist on me."

"You're paranoid." Aasim rolled his eyes, and then closed the door. Leila was leaning against his desk, staring hard at the picture in his wooden frame. She remembered that moment vividly—clear, robin egg-blue skies, the air smelled of cotton candy and fresh water, and the screams and laughter of children and adults alike roared in the background.

It was 2002. They were in Saint Maarten at one of the piers. Every year, they went somewhere different in the world, and she and Aasim alternated as to who chose. It was her turn that year.

_"Take the picture Daddy! Before Aasim lets go!" _His grip was firm on her hand as she stood on top of the fake elephant, pointing to the rainbow-colored balloons in the sky. It was Children's Day the night that their flight was to leave for Tel Aviv.

_"Alright, just a few more seconds! And...got it!"_ Leila felt herself slipping, and Aasim had let her go. Her father was too far away to catch her, but still, she felt strong, sturdy arms catch her from underneath. It was her mother, smiling warmly at her.

_"I got you, my little ladybug."_

"I was wondering where that picture went," she thought aloud. "Was it in your luggage the day of the crash?"

"Yeah, but I took it out before they processed it. Good thing I did; I heard that you burned our house down," he stated in an amused tone. "Why?" She fumbled with the paper clip on his desk, twirling it in circles with her index finger.

"The Templars had found us. They destroyed everything the night after we found the sword. There was no point in saving it; there was blood everywhere, and I didn't want to remember Mom and Dad. Or you."

"What?" he demanded, his voice sounding like a gust of wind. "I was too much of a loving brother to you? We didn't give you enough freedom? You didn't want to remember the two people who birthed you, took care of you, practically _spoiled_ you—"

Leila suddenly turned to him, and all of her dormant emotions burst forth like a broken dam, "I didn't want to remember _any_ of you! It was too _painful_ to come home every single day, expecting my family to welcome me with open arms and find _no one_! The pictures, the videos, the clothes, the bedrooms, even the colors of the walls reminded me of you guys! There were some days the pain was so overwhelming that I started wondering how many sleeping pills it would take until I didn't wake up again, or how many arteries in my body I could cut so that I'd die faster! I was tired of being alone!" she shouted, her tears blurring her vision. Her chest heaved with sobs."You let me think you were never coming back when you were only 200 miles away," she croaked.

Aasim snatched her and buried her in his chest, holding her tight. "I'm sorry Leila. I didn't know how else to protect you. The Templars had me marked; they'd do anything to get rid of every last one of us. I had to." Leila closed her eyes and inhaled his scent, spicy and light, like cinnamon.

"Don't ever leave me again," she whispered, clawing at his shirt.

"Unless I get married or die, I won't." Leila pulled away just enough to smack his arm, and the tension in the room evaporated into thin air.

"Was that what you wanted to talk to me about?" she asked, feeling ten times lighter.

Aasim's smiled faded, and he turned away from her. It must have been bad news. "No. I wanted to talk you about your relationship...with Altaïr." At mention of his name, Leila felt all the moisture in her throat disappear, and a hot bubble encased her body as she stood there with her heart thudding so loud she thought he could hear it as well as she could.

"What about it?" she tried to ask without a hint of nervousness. He knew her well enough to identify when she was upset or anxious. The slightest tremble, the smallest hesitation, and it was all over.

"You two are obviously very close, so I just wanted to ask, do you want to date him?" Her heart ceased beating, her brain stopped functioning, and all of her muscles grew taut. She didn't think he'd be so forthright with it.

"No. Even if I wanted to, he wouldn't want to date me. He has a woman back home named Adha waiting for him. He doesn't seem to be the type to drop one woman and move on to the other."

"You sound like you've considered that as an option."

"I haven't," she answered right away. "Hannah wanted to get his attention, but when he didn't bite, I figured he had some other chick back in his time." If Hannah hadn't been a typical hormone-driven young woman, her excuse would have fallen flat on its face. Leila felt like she was going to explode; she had to get out of there before she gave herself away, then she'd never be able to face the assassin knowing her brother knew her true feelings.

Aasim scrutinized her face for a moment, then nodded his head. "She's always been a hot tamale. She'll be married before she's 25," he laughed. "Well, just know, you have my approval if it ever comes to that." Leila felt her heart skip a beat, and she smiled.

"See? That's the Leila-Bug I remember."

* * *

"SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE. SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE. 100% TRANSITION. DNA SEQUENCE #12247896 SUCCESSFULLY TRANSFERRED. TEST SUBJECT MENTAL CAPACITY AT 100%. PHYSICAL FORTITUDE AT 100%. ALL VITALS STABILIZED AND SECURE."

The young, and very rattled scientist, struggled to replace her lab coat on her shoulders as she exited the elevator. Thankfully, her alarm had gone off, and the transition at hand was much more important than 'her punishment for insubordination', so her supervisor let her go. But she was not without scars.

"That can't be," she muttered, typing her password into the master computer. "The numbers weren't this high 30 minutes ago." The surveillance camera was focused on the subject and three men in pristine white suits, watching as the tank drained and the men caught the human-looking thing. Whatever it was was considerably larger than the scientists carrying the subject to the table.

"Miss Rosenburgh," a gruff voice erupted from her earpiece, causing her to jump three feet into the air. "I do hope that call was important." She buttoned up the rest of her shirt and switched around in her pantyhose. They would start to run any moment; she could just slip off and into the trash.

"It was sir. The Master System is saying that Subject X is ready. Project Revelation is complete."

"What? I'll be down momentarily," he said. Mr. Rikkin actually sounded _excited,_ which meant he wouldn't be pouncing on everyone at the job. Minutes later, he came bursting into the room, panting heavily. His eyes fell on her and returned to the screen quickly. She could smell her scent all over him, and the memory of just half an hour ago resurfaced. She closed her eyes as the bile rose to her throat.

"Amazing," he breathed, gripping her chair so tight the white of his knuckles began to show. "Finally. Those bastards will get what they deserve. Miss Rosenburgh, let us meet this new ally of ours and introduce myself." Shakily, she got to her feet, and started to walk in the direction of the lab, but she had something she needed to do first.

"I need to use the restroom," she said quietly, hurrying out the door and into the women's room. The young scientist barely made it to a stall before she emptied her lunch into the toilet bowl. She was marred for life, but he didn't care, and she didn't expect him to.

_Come on Ilana_ she thought, going to the sink to gargle some water. _There's no compassion here behind the plastic smiles and grins. You know this place is dead, just do your job and forget about what happened._

She stepped out into the hall, taking a heavy breath, and marched to the lab to see this Subject X she had worked so hard to help create.

There were already at least a dozen people gathered around the man, who was at least six and a half feet tall. Rikkin was standing next to him, speaking a foreign language that she couldn't pick up on. They seemed to be on friendly terms, until their voices grew louder, and everyone took a step back, murmuring loudly. Rikkin was beginning to look nervous, and then the taller man grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the wall. Her boss crumpled to the floor, bleeding and unconscious. Everyone grew silent as his bright blue eyes scanned the room with intense dislike and a darker, more sinister emotion.

Ilana was in a state of shock, waiting for him to start killing everyone and leaving a bloody mess, but he merely stood there. Finally he turned to English when he spoke.

"I do not care what time I'm living in or who this 'Abstergo' is; I want the Assassin's head as a trophy."

* * *

Leila didn't know why Altaïr had insisted on going out that day when she was in no mood to aimlessly wander around. The carnival was over the day before and the streets were empty. They had been walking around since one in the afternoon, stopping from time to time to look at the river and say nothing.

His routine was beginning to annoy her, and she wasn't so sure she liked him as much as she used to.

_Did I even like him?_ she pondered, playing with her dark tresses as they stood on the bridge. The foot traffic in this part of Cairo was moderate, so an occasional passersby bumped into her as she wandered deep into her thoughts. _Maybe...maybe it was just a strong crush. I mean, yeah, it was exciting to have a hot guy in my house all to myself, but I couldn't even bring myself to pounce on him like any hormonal teen girl would have done. I felt...sorry for him. So maybe that's what it is: pity. He's stuck here in a time where he knows no one and has no purpose. He's just existing. And Adha, she must miss him. I feel so selfish; I never really tried to help him get home, but I guess it was because I didn't want to be alone again. After two years of just me and Apollo, and sometimes my cousin, I wanted him to stay. I think he's figured out by now that he can't go back home, but what will he do here?_

_But...what about the note he tied to the flower? What does any of his kindness mean if he doesn't like me? He hasn't gone out of his way to be kind to anyone else. Or am I just being too hopeful for my own good?_

"Leila," his voice interrupted her reverie.

She turned to him, "Yes?" He looked uneasy, ill even, as if he had bad news to tell her. Was he leaving?

"I..." he breathed, raking a hand through his curly hair. "I realized that I have not always been the most kind to you."

_Well, that's an interesting apology. No duh!_ Hopefully he couldn't read her sarcastic thoughts on her face. "When all you wanted to do was help, I pushed you away. Long ago, you told me that friends are supposed to show concern for one another."

"Don't worry about it. I don't expect people to explain their actions. I just hope they take responsibility for them." He stepped closer to her, and she felt something in her stomach blossom and burn like a wildfire. His stare was intense, but not in a threatening, ominous sort of way. It looked as if he hadn't moved closer to her, he would have walked away and left her all alone.

"Friends should feel free to express themselves," he said.

"So...you're saying we're friends?"

"Yes." She frowned and looked away to hide her dissatisfaction. "But...last night was no mistake." Her head snapped back to his face. His voice was soft and sincere, and she was reminded of her dream.

"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling lightheaded and breathless. Nothing else mattered at this moment. Not the sirens of the police cars, not the bird's sweet melody in the air, not the low hum of the crowds, and if the sun had stopped shining, she'd await his response in the dark. Just as long as she knew.

_I'm a liar! A filthy, dirty, despicable liar! I wanted this!_ she thought, wondering if this moment were real.

As the weatherman had predicted, the evening showers began to fall at sunset and they found themselves slowly growing wet with each minute that passed. The crowds started to disperse as people hurried to awnings and storefronts to escape the water droplets falling from the sky.

Altaïr placed his hands around her waist, bringing her close so that their bodies were touching. His forest green eyes stared intently into her auburn ones. She was dying to hear his next words, but they never came as his eyes fell on something behind her.

"Leila, look out!" she heard Aasim's voice and his scuffling feet from far away. When had he gotten there?

She quickly came out of the moment and turned, only to be met by a wall of gray.

From that moment on, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.

She strained her neck to look up, but it was too late; Altaïr had pushed her out of the way and onto the floor.

She sat up, well aware of the groan that left his lips, and felt her heart shatter to pieces.

A long, thin dagger protruded from his back, the knife buried to the hilt in his stomach. The pale hand that wielded it was covered in his dark, thick blood, and the person bent over to whisper in his ear, "I've found you, Assassin coward." She looked all around, and noticed that every person standing there wore the same black suit and sunglasses, all of their faces blank pale masks as they looked on. Why hadn't they noticed them before? Were they too wrapped up their own little world to care?

Altaïr's mouth gaped open, but nothing came out as his assailant ripped the blade from his body, letting him fall to the floor.

He lay still, his eyes staring up at the cloudy sky, and finally she found her voice.

"NOOOOOOO!" Thunder clapped loudly in the distance as lightning danced across the expanse of the heavens, and the sprinkles suddenly turned into a downpour.

She reached for him, only to be grabbed by her brother who was urging her to come with him.

"Come on. We have to go," he insisted, dragging her along.

"Leave me here!" she shouted. digging her heels into the ground but to no avail. Her heart was slowly becoming undone by the sight before her. Altaïr's murderer stood there with a smirk on his face as he watched them retreat. One of the men stooped over the assassin's body to check his pulse.

"He's still alive. We need to get him back to the main facility in Italy," he informed the others. They were quick to pick him up and hoist him away while the snake of a man turned his back to her, returning the way from which they came.

It was over. He was gone as quickly as he had appeared in her life.

She couldn't believe it.

"ALTAIR!" Leila screamed. Her echo returned to her, hollow, empty, lifeless.

She had no idea what he was going to say to her next.

But she knew it would have changed their lives forever.

* * *

**Ah yes! My long awaited return! Only to end this chapter with such a downer! I'm sorry, but this was the reason why I had waited so long to write this chapter. You see, I wanted to make sure my mind was in the right place so that this chapter came out the way I wanted it to. Emotions were running very high in this chapter; obviously, Leila wasn't completely over her brother's "death" and needed to get some things off of her chest about her whole family dying. And then the downfall of Altaïr just before his big confession! Does anyone have an idea of what he was going to say? By the way, that rain and lightning and stuff fits in with the title of this story. She cried, then the weather started to get rough.**

**I know I promised three parts to their down time, but the Templars are always looking for ways to catch the Assassins off guard. What better time than when they think they're safe? And does anyone know who the mysterious Subject X is? Ten cookie points to whoever gets it right!**

**As I said before, I'm trying to finish this story before September rolls around, so expect...hmm, maybe 5 to 7 more chapters as well as the Appendix and Epilogue. And by the way, this is just the beginning of the climax before the big finale. Toodles!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I appreciate all of the reviews for chapter 25. I'm assuming no one expected that to happen to ol' Altie, huh? Well, this story isn't over yet. Hang on to your britches. I've got maybe 3 or 4 more chapters left in this engine.  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**Side Note: I guess you can say there will be action in this chapter. Also, did anyone know that the word Abstergo comes from a word that means "to cleanse"? The Templars are more cunning than we thought...**

**Sivan IXXX©  
**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Through the Darkness**

I couldn't believe it. The cocky, arrogant, aloof, and sometimes annoying Master Assassin had crumpled right before my eyes.

I hate myself.

If I hadn't been standing there...if I were the one standing in his place...

Was I _that_ desperate for attention? Didn't my parents shower me with enough love to last ten lifetimes?

Why did he choose to be a martyr at _that_ time? It was such a terrible trade for him; when he was alone, introverted and to himself, he had no one else to worry about. Now I see why it's so important for Assassins to keep their feelings in check. If I hadn't haggled him about being distant from everyone else, so cut off from the rest of the world, he might still be here, and I'd be the one lying in my blood.

I don't know what he was going to say, but I was afraid. In all the months that I'd been with him, out of all the emotions he decided to show, the emotion that he wielded like a gun pointed at my heart, was both lethal and beautiful. Maybe he had realized it too, that I was no Albert Einstein, and I had absolutely _no_ idea how he was going to get home. I felt terrible for saying that I'd help him, and did nothing but ensure his death.

The feeling that I had, like a million ants were crawling all over my body...I had never felt it before he touched me. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him to touch me. It was natural. He was a handsome young man, I was a hormonal, needy girl. _Man and girl._ Such an ill-fitted pair. What was I thinking? I'm no match for him; I'd have to be the Arab Marilyn Monroe. I wore braces for five years and I had had acne that felt like an alligator's skin. Far from perfect.

He wasn't going to say the 'l' word.

He was going to say goodbye.

* * *

I love my baby sister, but her emotions are scary. When she was a kid, the doctor told my parents that she'd have to attend therapy sessions so that she could learn how to open up to people about how she really feels. And now, I'm not so sure those sessions were a good idea.

She wears her heart on her sleeve. Leila's a great person, but _people_ aren't great. They took advantage of her kindness, and when they felt they couldn't get any more out of her, they turned on her. I could've gone to jail many times for assaulting all the losers who broke her heart in high school.

Okay, I'll admit, when I first heard that Leila and Altaïr were really close, I wanted to grab a bag of lye, a shovel, and find a fresh plot of land far away from the city. Call me crazy, but it's just love and how I show it.

Over time, the guy grew on me, okay? He's cool, in a laid back kind of way. At least he's not some beef head trying to impress my sister with his bulging muscles and negative IQ. Sometimes I wondered if he even had a pulse, but I couldn't get close enough to check. He's a pretty good fighter; our little tussle in the gym proved that.

It was obvious then that he liked my sister. He didn't want me in "their" business, and every time I mentioned her name, he looked like he wanted to rip my arm off and beat me with it. Only someone in...in...

Anyway, I felt really bad about ruining their moment on the bridge. It looked like he had something really important to say to her. But if I hadn't, Leila would've died. I couldn't bear to see her fall to the ground and waste away right before my eyes. I feel like a complete loser for letting Altaïr take the hit, but what was I supposed to do? It was either him or her, and he had lived a life before she did, so in a way, this was his second chance and it had ended.

But...that guy in the black suit did say that he was still alive. No doubt those guys were Templars, and their leader was the guy that stabbed him. He looked pretty evil, and that bald shiny head of his added to his dark persona. I thought I knew all of the main leaders in Abstergo, but I guess he was one of the guys in the dark. They're taking him to Italy, if he isn't there already. Hopefully, he's still alive, but the situation is still bad. He's stuck behind enemy lines, and the one mole that we do have says it's not safe for us to plant another mole. They're already suspicious of her activity. I won't say any of this to Leila; it'll just make things worse.

She cried all night. Michelle couldn't do anything to stop it. She looked to me with a helpless look on her face, and I felt defeated. This was my kryptonite, my Great Wall, my Rubik's Cube.

I felt weak, overwhelmed, and powerless. I promised my parents I would do all I can to keep her safe.

This was the one time that I couldn't make Leila Bear feel better.

* * *

"...Wake up..."

"..."

"...Wake up, you sniveling coward..." After the second calling, the Assassin slowly opened his eyes, the outlines of the person's face blurred and undefined. Blinking a few times, his vision cleared, and the smooth, pale head, icy blue eyes, and demeaning smirk became clear. Immediately, he snapped, growling and lunging for his enemy, but to no avail. He was strapped down tight to a bed, somewhat cold and uncomfortable, and there was something in his arm.

"Where am I?" he barked, his hazel eyes burning into the vile person before him. He seemed to find this amusing. It was to be expected from a backstabbing Templar.

"That's not for you to know, Assassin. Be grateful that I didn't skin you like the swine that you are in front of that pretty girl. I'm sure she wouldn't have liked that." He unsheathed a long shiny dagger, one that Altaïr had seen before, but he remained unfazed by the underlying threat behind it. The Templar began to circle the bed slowly, his heavy footsteps causing the room to shake.

"If you plan to kill me, why not earn that right? Fight me like a real man and we will see who comes out victorious," the Master Assassin spat.

"Unfortunately, I cannot. My...allies will not allow me to separate your head from your body as I would love to do, but we will have our duel soon, boy. I only wish that your beautiful friend were here to see you fall." He stared at the Assassin and waited for his reaction.

Altaïr's face grew blank, and he seemed to pale as he processed the Templar's words. "What have you done to Leila?" he asked in clipped huffs. His husky voice had taken on a dark edge; his enemy could feel the hate in his every word and relished in it.

"So I see she is a weak spot for you. Perhaps I should have brought her along to enjoy her last days with you. It's unfortunate their little hovel will be cleaned out soon, and every Assassin you have come to know in Cairo will be dead, including your lover." Altaïr tried to remain calm, but his heart began to thud furiously as he thought of all that was to slowly unfold into a massacre at the hideout.

The men would fight vigorously to deflect the Templars, but they would be overwhelmed and quickly subdued. The women, including Terah, the pregnant one, would be killed also. Templars were not known for their sympathy.

Maybe...maybe it was better that he was here. He was the reason why they had been discovered in Cairo. All of the chaos that ensued his arrival was because of his presence. He was the constant in all of Leila's problems.

She needed to be set free.

And he was going to leave her on that bridge, unaware of where he was headed or how long he would wander.

But all that mattered was her safety.

Yet even that was uncertain.

* * *

"I can't believe it. Project Revelation worked! It actually _worked_! That ten million dollars that you funded to this project was put to good use."

"Good. Subject X is stable? No more hiccups? No more seizures?"

"Yes. His brain waves are normal, and unlike the last one, his cognitive skills are perfect. We've managed to resurrect the great Robert De Sable."

"Excellent news, Alan. Just excellent. That bastard traitor Saffar missed out on a wonderful opportunity to witness the birth of a new world under our control."

"He chose unwisely, which is why he lost his life. But no one will ever know the truth about his research, not even his daughter."

"Did you have your agents apprehend her?"

The executive adjusted his tie, feeling like someone had suddenly turned on the heater. "Master?"

"Did you capture Leila Saffar?" he demanded this time, sounding very impatient.

"No. She escaped. And I was unaware that she was a part of our reason for going to Cairo."

"Before we dispose of the Saffar legacy, there's something we must take from her. No doubt her father gave it to her long ago, before we discovered his betrayal. The only way to find it is to have her here for study and research. Do we still have a unit in Cairo?"

"Yes. They're scheduled to return in three days."

"Send them to the hideout. Kill all others except the Saffar girl and bring her back alive. Don't harm her in any way or I will bury you in the deepest pits of the earth alive and leave you there." With a loud click, the call was over, and Rikkin drew in a heavy breath, rubbing the bandage on his temple as he was getting ready to make the call until a soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in." The person who did step into his office was unexpected. A slender, petite, unassuming woman in her early twenties with stormy eyes and golden blonde hair. His idea of a perfect one night stand. "Yes, Ms. Stillman?"

"I have the report from the infiltration team sent to Lanshiang. They say it was a complete success." He studied her for a moment before taking the pale yellow folder from her small hands and raked his eyes over the words before setting it on his desk. His gaze returned to her, and she looked uncomfortable. He grinned inwardly at her bashfulness.

"Good. Vidic told me about the incident in the parking lot. Are you alright?"

Her eyes flashed a look of fear and surprise before she nodded her head. "I'm fine. Just a little shaken up."

"If you need a few days off, let me know. We don't hassle our employees to work hard when they go through something traumatic like that. Unlike other companies, we care for our personnel. Like a family."

A blinding white smile burst on her face. "I know, Mr. Rikkin. Thank you. My...former employers weren't so kind. They had me hunched over a computer desk all day every day, and I never had any time for myself." _Not to mention they didn't care if I was about to be hacked into little pieces by a psychotic freak..._

"Well, forget about them. _We_ are your new corporate family. The past is all about pain and suffering; we look forward to the future, where everything will be in control and perfect, right Ms. Stillman?" His voice had an underlying manipulative tone, but she had grown used to it after months of working with him.

"Yes, of course. I'll get back to work," she bowed slightly before exiting. Exhaling slowly, she hurried back to her office and shut the door before removing her personal laptop and setting it on the desk, opening it and letting it load.

CHANNEL 34467-63 SECURE. CONTACTING SAFFRI...

"MESSAGE #127. SUBJ: CAUGHT? Any pRoblEms you THink comE into plaY when yOu get iN The act are gOne when YOU subscribe for LinkedNet!"

Annoyed, she typed in a quick, "NO," before sending. There was no need to send fake advertisements to communicate anymore. Her line was secure.

"SEEN SUBJECT 'A'?" She had seen quick glimpses of him through the windows on Level 6 in the Observation Labs.

"NO. SUBJECT 'A' LOCATION UNKNOWN."

"POSSIBLITY OF SMALL TEAM EXTRACTION."

"DETECTION VERY LIKELY. NO ONE SAFE." With that, she closed the laptop and stared hard out the window. Clay was getting worse by the day. He needed to get out of there and get some help, but with Vidic breathing down her back, his escape plan was impossible.

Then again...

It wasn't like she was really on his side.

All of this secrecy would come to an end soon.

She'd be free in the new world to come. Free to do whatever she pleased. No bosses, no death threats, no betrayals.

And finally, no more William.

* * *

"I can hear you breathing outside the door."

Hesitantly, it opened, and in stepped a petite woman in a lab coat and black dress. Her curly brown hair was fixed into a bun and her glasses sat precariously on the tip of her nose. "I came to check on you," she admitted quietly. He turned his head to face her, and she rouged under her lightly tanned skin.

_No one told me he was so handsome..._Shaking the thought away, she stepped closer with a clipboard in hand and sat down on the stool.

"I do not need your sympathy," he stated coldly, glaring at her with intense hatred.

"It's my job. I have to." She looked up at the EKG monitor and scribbled a few things, and then did it again. "You're very important to Abstergo. They put a lot of money into bringing you back."

"Bring me back?" he echoed. He thought they had...

"Yes. They used one of your descendants that recently passed to resynthesize your DNA in the precise genetic sequence that made you who you are. Including your memories. They used some kind of ancient technology to replicate your physical appearance, but I'm sure that took some time for your phenotype to take over the original genomes, right?"

Although the scientific terms were foreign and far too advanced for his archaic thinking, he thought back to the day Leila ran her hands through his hair and noticed that its texture had changed. His eyes had changed color and he seemed to have grown taller over time. "Perhaps that was the case. Leila was the only one to notice."

The scientist ceased her activity on the clipboard and stared at him. "Is Leila...your girlfriend?"

"If you mean lover, no. We were...are good friends. I was going to leave her in Cairo with her brother. It is not safe to stay with me for too long." He didn't know why he felt comfortable telling her all of this, but if he were to die, some things had to be said. Something compelled him to tell this complete stranger the stirrings of his heart.

"But she stayed anyway, right?"

"She endured a lot of pain with me. She even promised to help me find a way back to the eve of the Third Crusade, but seeing that my arrival was not through time travel, I have no need for her promise anymore."

"Leila would have gone with you." The use of her name in a stranger's voice got his attention away from the ceiling and towards her. She looked ashamed as she stared at the white linoleum floor.

"I...went through some of your memories with her. She seems to be in love with you." When she looked up, it looked as if she were on the verge of tears.

"That is precisely the reason why I had to leave her. Her feelings would have destroyed me."

The woman's face hardened. "You're wrong. Love gives you a reason to fight. It gives you life, it gives you meaning. She would have made you stronger if you returned those feelings," she retorted. "Were you even going to tell her you loved her?"

"...Yes. Robert interrupted me."

"Then why leave after such a big commitment?" She seemed to be growing indignant.

"One of us would have died. I chose to spare her."

"You're still here!" she hissed. He was taken aback by her strong display of emotion and she composed herself quickly. "That's no excuse. You had many opportunities to tell her you loved her."

"Any other moment preceding that one would have been...awkward."

"But at least she'd know you died loving her. Isn't that all that matters so that she can have peace?" They stared one another down for what felt like an eternity before she finally wiped her eyes, got to her feet, and walked out of the door without saying another word.

* * *

There was a soft knock on her door, but she didn't bother to voice a greeting or get up to open it. The person opened the door anyway, and she didn't know who it was until he spoke.

"Leila—"

"I already know what you're going to say, and I have my response: I'm fine for the thousandth time today," she mumbled as she braided a section of her hair. She looked like she had taken the time to shower and change clothes, which was a good thing. It would've been a sign of trouble if she were still in her pajamas, had disheveled hair, and bags under her eyes the size of tires.

"You don't have to lie. Every time I pass by your room, I hear you crying your eyes out. That doesn't sound like everything's fine," he reasoned, sitting on the bed's edge. She stared at him a moment with her dark eyes and then looked down at the plain grey sheets on her mattress.

"Y'know, I was almost raped once, while we were on our way here," she admitted quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his jaw slacken and his eyes grow wide. "We got separated because I chose to trust a highwayman. We could have flown over; we have enough money to buy a million plane tickets to Cairo," she laughed wryly. Her smile quickly faded as she shook her head, sniffling a few times. "But no, I insisted I was being smart, and he almost died in the desert looking for me. _Me_, of all people."

"'Of all people'? Leila, you're just as important as anyone else in the world." Aasim's eyes burned with passion as well as pain, and she gave him a casual smile, as if that were a myth and not a fact.

"When he found me, I was huddled in a corner, dirty, tired, and petrified. I thought I had lost my mind and became a murderer. There was a Holy Book on the table in our hotel; I couldn't even touch it, I was so ashamed. But Altaïr, he didn't even seem fazed that I had killed someone."

"Leila, it's because he killed people almost _every day_ in his time. But you were defending yourself; what else could you have done except let him rape you?"

"At least he wouldn't be dead," she whispered.

Her older brother licked his lips. "Look, we all screw up in our lives and we want forgiveness, but a man like the one who wanted to _force_ you to sleep with him, didn't deserve forgiveness. He scared you, he hurt you, and I know he traumatized you. What value does a person have if they do things that are not forgiveable? Isn't that part of what the Assassins stand for? Balancing the scales?"

"I'm not an Assassin. I never have been," she replied, her voice downcast. "I've been nothing but an insignificant burden."

"That's not true. From what I heard from Altaïr, you helped him a lot." Leila felt her insides cringe and then burn at mention of his name. She was trying to hide her smile, but Aasim was quick to notice the corners of her mouth turn up. "He had some kind of stroke a while back and you helped him stay clean and healthy. You drove to Masyaf and dodged the Templars, which is quite impressive, and sounds like an Assassin's daily chores to me," he joked, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and into his chest for a big hug. Leila fell into his warmth and closed her eyes, remembering all the days she was sick and at home recuperating when Aasim would stay in her room all day and watch cartoons.

_"You're sick again, Leila."_

_"I know. I don't like being sick."  
_

_"Of course you do. You like being able to watch Animaniacs all day and eat fruit snacks and drink apple juice."_

_"Yeah. I guess it is kinda fun being sick."_

_"I wish I could be sick more," Aasim pouted, glaring at the screen._

_"If you get in my bed, you'll get sick more. I promise." She watched as he climbed onto her bed and into her blankets, sitting right next to her. Leila passed the fruit snacks to him, and they watched the show in silence._

_"I love you Aasim."_

_"Love you too, Leila Bear."_

_"Leila Bear?"_

_"Get used to it."_

"I knew I could always count on you to make me feel better," she sighed.

"I'm your brother; it's in my job description. I know most brothers don't hang with their sisters much, but I always wanted to be different. All we have is each other now."

Leila pulled away and looked up into his face. "What about Michelle?"

"Of course, but she's not blood. You are. Speaking of which, I have something important to tell you—"

"Aasim!" he heard someone yelling his name. Immediately, he got to his feet and ripped open the door.

"I'm here!" he replied. Slightly panicked, Leila waited as Michelle came running to him with a laptop in hand.

"W-we just got this message a few seconds ago. It came from a restricted channel."

"Lucy's?"

"No. Someone else. They don't have a name." Leila got to her feet and walked over to them, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

Was he dead? Were they in trouble? Had they been found?

"Oh my god," Aasim breathed softly.

When she read the text on the glowing screen, she felt her body cease all activity. She felt like her clothes had been violently ripped away from her body, and she was standing outside in the dead of winter.

"10 MINS UNTIL TEMPLARS ARRIVE. GET OUT ASAP.

TARGET:LEILA SAFFAR."

* * *

**Aaaaaaand there you have it! Lots of revelations in this chapter and a little more about Leila's background and upbringing. Another update in about a week since chapter 25! I'm on a roll here! I want to finish this story real soon, as in the next 2 or 3 weeks, so expect about 3 more chapters and then Leila's story is done. I don't want it to get stale and have people lose interest, so I'll end it before it gets stupid.**

**There are a lot of characters involved in this part of the story now and I'm sure everyone's surprised I mentioned Lucy. I figured I'd show her real attitude towards the Assassins a little; I think that she'd harbor some kind of dislike towards William Miles since he was so harsh with his students and the Assassins overall didn't seem to care about her. But that's what AC universe sneaky Templars do: they bend you to their will through false ideas of nurture and affection.**

**I don't know if Altair's talk with the Abstergo employee was realistic or not, but we do tend to relay a lot more information to a complete stranger that we think we're not going to see again. This is precisely how Altair feels, so he pours out his heart to this woman because he knows he's going to die soon. Her explanation of how he got there will be further explained in a future chapter. And Robert De Sable is back in the house! His purpose will be explained too.**

**I added the little part about Leila and Aasim towards the end because I feel that brothers should be close to their sisters, especially if their sisters are younger than them. They need to be protected to a certain extent from guys who just want to use them, be there for their lil' sis when she's sad, so Aasim is my depiction of what a brother should be like. Leila looks up to him, if you guys haven't caught onto that. Their strong bond even after years of separation made Altair feel like he was filling that brotherly spot all this time, but did he really? We will see...**

**Does anyone know who the person is at the end, the one who warned them? Was it Lucy? Or was it another Assassin mole? We will see...**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: I appreciate all of the reviews for chapter 26. I will put some action in this story for all of you who have been waiting patiently. And, we learn of Altair's TRUE origins!  
**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any brand name products mentioned within, or UbiSoft or any of its characters, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar or not affiliated with UbiSoft belong to me.**

**Side Note: I guess you can say there will be action in this chapter. **

**Tammuz IXXX©**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Means to an End **

"Before you die, is there anything you would like to have explained to you about why you are alive in this time?"

"Yes. I want to know...who created me. I died over 800 years ago; why am I no longer at peace?"

"In terms that you can understand, what we did was make an exact replica of your body and your memories. Your original body is somewhere in the Middle East rotting, if it isn't just dust in a coffin after 8 centuries. Leila's father, Adamian, was more than an oil merchant. He was a brilliant scientist with a plan. He took the technology of a civilization that preceded that of humans and made it possible to resurrect the dead."

"Am I and Robert the first of many?" he asked in an even tone.

"No. A few volunteered their bodies, and they all couldn't survive the transition. The shock done to the mind and body were too great."

"How so?"

"Imagine being in a nice warm, comfortable room for years. It's just you here, no threats of danger, you are free to feel, do, see, smell, and touch whatever you want. Then suddenly, someone intrudes that environment and forces you out because they want to have everything you do and mold it into the way they see fit. The process of DNA reconstruction is very painful. It's the transferring of a foreign conscience into your own as well as squeezing their genetic makeup to fit into your every cell. It took Adamian 12 years to even have a 45% success with the procedure."

It was a lot to process, but the Assassin was beginning to understand. "This is someone else's body."

"Yes. But your host was very special."

"How so?"

"He was one of your few living descendants with a high concentration of special blood. Adamian saw it as the perfect opportunity to try one last time." Altaïr felt his body being propped up on the stiff bed, and soon, he was facing a man in a white coat with a bald head, a graying beard, and beady black eyes, as if he were some sort of rodent, nervous and unsure of his surroundings. Yet his voice denoted that he thought rather highly of himself and his work. The Master Assassin could easily see the mischief and malice in his features, but he was prepared to endure whatever was to come, even if it were death.

* * *

"Keep moving! Don't fall behind!" Michelle shouted to Leila, leading the way.

Leila's mind and body had separated long before the hideout had descended into chaos. When she read her name in bold black capital letters on the screen, she shut down. Everything felt disconnected; if she were running, she didn't know. If her arm truly was bleeding from the impact of the explosive, she didn't feel the pain.

If Aasim really were...

Really were...

Another head-splitting explosion occurred above them, and Leila could hear people shouting and screaming. The hurrying footsteps sounded like the march of a thousand militiamen, fearlessly traipsing towards the battlefield. But these were not militiamen; these were Templars, ruthless, unfeeling and cold like death's fingers at the nape of the neck, slowly wrapping around and forcing the life out of your body.

Her allies were upstairs dying.

Because of her. In the short span of three weeks, her life had begun to spiral out of her control. First the house, then Altaïr and her brother, and now people were dying in her behalf.

She should have just given herself up. If they were going to kill her, everyone else might have had a chance, but with an enemy like them, they would have killed everyone, anyway.

The end of the hot, dank tunnel was finally in sight, and Michelle replaced her handgun in its holster to open the steel door. "Hopefully, they haven't found our escape trucks or the other hideout," she muttered. Xena seemed anxious, rubbing her swollen belly. Her husband, Dantilus, was overwhelmed by Templars before they started throwing in gas grenades. There were only seven of them left out of the twenty that were stationed there: four women and three men, and two were severely injured. If they were discovered, that number would drop to just one.

Leila felt sick to her stomach. When the door opened and they were suddenly in the warmth of the sun, she staggered a few feet before falling to her hands and knees, and heaved all that she had eaten into the dirt.

"Come on. We have to keep going," Michelle said, grabbing her by the hook of her arm. There was an older SUV parked a little ways away under a black tarp, and the small group hurried to it. They were three miles outside of the city, close to the desert where they hoped the Templars wouldn't come looking for them.

"Let me go," Leila hissed, ripping her arm out of her friend's grasp.

Bewildered, Michelle moved towards her. "Leila, we have to get outta here before they find us."

"Then leave me behind and let them kill me!" she shouted. "I have nothing to live for!" In two short strides, the older woman was in front of her and she felt something hard and swift impact the side of her face. Shocked, Leila held her stinging cheek in her palm.

"You have everything to live for! Aasim is dead, Altaïr as well, but they wouldn't have given up! They'd keep fighting for our cause, no matter the sacrifices! Their deaths should move you to want to keep living to fulfill the future that they wanted, too!" Michelle's eyes were wet, and she suddenly looked tired and wilted, as if she would fall out any minute. "I lost the man I loved, too. But I know if Aasim and I switched places, he'd keep going. We were going to get married one day, have kids, a house, but even though I know that'll never happen now, I still want a world without Templars."

They stood just inches apart for a few seconds, staring intensely at one another before Leila turned and headed for the car.

* * *

"Hungry?" The question came out soft yet hesitant. Leila looked up at Michelle before taking the bowl from her. It was Mediterranean couscous with some kind of meat in it. She began to eat slowly and her friend sat beside her in front of the fire.

"Daniel's arm is in a sling, and the bullet in Guillaume's leg's been removed. I gave them both morphine so they should be sleeping okay tonight."

"Good," the younger of the two replied quietly.

An awkward silence filled the air as Michelle thought of something to say. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For slapping you."

"I needed it. I was losing my mind, but I always think irrationally when things start to fall apart. I'm not a good person to be around when bad things happen."

"It's natural to be afraid, Leila. You haven't been trained to think when there's chaos all around you. Nothing that happened today was your fault. You didn't go out into the streets and say, 'Hey! This is where we're hiding!'" They both laughed, despite the cruddy mood they were in, and Leila gazed up at the sky littered with stars like the grains of sand on the seashore.

"I figured all of the bad things my dad used to talk about with my mom would never happen to us. The fighting, the bloodshed, death. Turns out all of that has happened. I should have known. My dad's oil company is joined to Abstergo. Who knows when they would have come to my house and killed me to gain access to all of my estate and rights to ownership of the company, only to have my death in the headlines as an 'unfortunate accident' or I was 'in the wrong place at the wrong time'?"

"We all think our family's protected from all of the bad things that go on in the world. I used to when I was a child. My older brothers, Idris and Amin—I used to worship them. They were all my parents talked about when I grew up. They played sports really well, they were smart, they were easy to befriend, and they respected the older ones. They were perfect. But," her voice faltered, and Leila watched as she nervously played with her fork in the couscous. "Even gods can fall," her voice cracked. Leila felt heat gather around her eyes, and then they began to sting.

"I don't know when, but Idris began to sell illegal drugs and he got caught up with the wrong people. His girlfriend smoked ganja all day and his friends used to ask me to open my legs for them, and I was under age. He stopped going to school, he started fighting with my parents all the time, and eventually he moved out." She wiped at her eyes before continuing. "One day when I was walking home from school, I saw a bunch of people gathered in a circle by one of the old alleys, so I went to get a closer look. It was my brother. His hands were tied together with his belt and his throat was slit from ear to ear. His girlfriend had been strangled, and her underwear was missing. The police found a whole bag of bad cocaine stuffed down his windpipe." Michelle's face had turned to stone and her once twinkling, starry eyes were now dull and empty.

Leila was at a loss for words. "What happened to Amin?" she finally asked quietly.

"He was stabbed to death trying to stop a robbery," she replied. The air grew still with the exception of a few desert bugs chirping their melancholy aria.

Even without the Templars around, death was still lingering in the air.

* * *

She had just left for a coffee break, so she had...4 minutes to get into contact without being caught.

Discreetly, the young woman looked around the empty hallways before inserting her key card into the slot, waiting until it beeped twice to open the door and step inside.

She was always so envious of the blond, her neat, manicured surroundings and soapy fragrance in the office. Rikkin would stare at the blond's rear whenever she walked up or down the halls, but still give her the due respect a woman of science deserved, while he would sneak a few feels when _she_ least expected it in the break room or on the elevator.

"That monster will get what he deserves soon. It's just a matter of time." She continued searching for the mobile device in her drawers, careful not to crumple any papers or drop any pens on the floor. If anything were out of place when she returned, she would know and consult the security cameras, or worse yet, start asking around, starting with her. And she was a terrible liar.

"Gotta get this done. Make sure it's sent to the right person," she mumbled, searching for an encrypted server line. There were so many on the Abstergo network, but more and likely, they were all being recorded and carefully monitored.

Finally, she found one labeled Red Pawn that was no part of the company's network and had a strong signal to a city several hundred miles away. "Great." She entered the code and then began typing her message quickly, trying to sound as vague as possible should someone stumble upon the open network.

After rechecking her typing, she pressed 'Send' and waited for the server to accept the message. The monitor read that it would have to load for some time to bypass all the traffic on the server to get it to the right destination. She felt slight panic in her heart, and she looked around nervously. The other offices were quiet and no one was marching down the hall to check if anyone was really working or not. So far so good.

Ten seconds passed and it was at 54%, but the elevator dinged and a few people stepped out, probably coming from a coffee break. She prayed one of them in group wasn't her. The young scientist held her breath, waiting for the obscured crowd to pass by the office and keep going. They did just as she had hoped and her gaze returned to the screen. It was at 85%.

"Come on, come on," she repeated.

"Hey Luce! You missed out on one of Jackson's Rikkin impersonations!" a fellow employee said. Her heart fell into her shoes; the person she was trying to avoid was close by and would more and likely open her door and find her standing there, and then her boss would _really_ get physical with her.

"I've heard them all, Dorian," she replied in that sweet, innocent voice of hers. Her hand rested on the handle, and the brunette was starting to understand how a cornered mouse felt when it had nowhere to hide from the serpent's gaze.

10% left.

"Suit yourself, Luce. But hey, are you going to that personnel meeting in a few minutes?"

Just 6% to go.

"Yeah. I just need to grab a pen and some paper." The blond woman stepped into her office and sat in her rolling leather chair, pulling open a drawer with all of her fresh office supplies. She grabbed a black ballpoint pen and her yellow notepad, glancing at her computer screen, and then did a double take.

She didn't remember opening a game of Solitaire. "Hm." With a hunch of her shoulders, she quickly closed the game, got up from her chair and clicked away on her heels.

The brunette came from behind the large wooden desk, snatched up the hair coil the blond had failed to see on the floor and hurried back to her floor before anyone else decided to borrow office supplies from Lucy.

* * *

"Aasim never told me he had an older brother," Michelle stated with amusement in her tone. Since it was relatively safe, they could afford to sleep outside among the many red dunes of the desert sea that seemed to stretch on endlessly in every direction. At night, however, the dunes were steeped in darkness with the exception of the heavenly glow of the moon, giving them a smooth, milky look to the human eye.

"Yeah. He wasn't around much; he would be 34 this year, so he was with his mother most of the time while Aasim and I were growing up."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"When I was about 10. He came over to get something from my dad and I was coming down the stairs when my mom opened the door and there he stood. He could've been my dad's twin. Xerxes never really did care for either of us since our dad divorced his mother and left her with nothing. I mean, she was an adulteress who had signed a prenuptial agreement; what did he expect?"

"He had no right to take it out on you guys. He should've been there for you when your parents died, took you in or something."

"He disappeared when I was 14. Took off to New York City and never came back," Leila ended her story with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Well, you're a strong young woman without his help, anyway," Michelle complimented. They both fell into silence, their gazes turning skyward as their minds started to float out into the dark abyss of the sky.

"I wonder...are there more of us scattered in the world? Or are we the only ones left?" Leila asked.

"I'm sure we have Assassins everywhere. The last time I checked, we have 23 active teams in different countries. We're not alone, that's for sure."

"How do we know the Templars haven't done the same to them as they did to us? Smoke them out and then kill them like rodents?"

"Every time a base is attacked, a signal embedded in our security system goes off and warns the other teams to prepare to run or fight, depending on their location and size."

"We should've run," the younger woman shook her head. "Aasim would still be here."

"Leila, Aasim would've stayed to fight no matter what we would've decided to do. He's not a coward in the least sense. He took a bullet for me when we were younger, and that said a lot about his character. He was a martyr for our beliefs."

"I'd rather have my brother than a hero," she said too softly for Michelle's ears.

* * *

_"What are we to do with them now that we have them all?"_

_"If they are to get their hands on these devices, then the war will be over. We cannot risk them being together ever again."_

_"I will take several and disperse them throughout the eastern and northern frontier."_

_"Swing your sword correctly, and your enemy will fall."_

_"Love will teach you how to live. Let it guide you into paradise."_

_"I must be a terrible person for not crying once over them."_

_"A friend looks out for those they love— don't they?"_

So many voices. So many, many faces. Like a cloth interwoven with all shades of life, his mind danced and leaped and frolicked to and fro between the recent and the long ago, the forgotten, and the well-retained.

As with all dreams, he couldn't control them and instead became the spectator as memory after memory played out.

_"Your father was a cruel man. He never loved me, and his new son has taken your place. His daughter, the one I couldn't bear— he will spoil her with the finest of everything while you get nothing."_

_"I loved your mother dearly, and she turned her back on me. What I gave her was a gift; my promise to be one with her, be one flesh, and she broke that bond. You must understand that parents sometimes change, and that change sometimes makes two persons fall out of love, or one will try to hold it together, while the other simply falls away. Do you understand?"_ Suddenly, everything turned black, and an excruciating pain ripped through the center of his skull, causing him to thrash and yell at the top of his lungs in agony.

"No one's ever survived this far into the Sequencing."

"Let's just hope he makes it. We need all the data we can gather before we send out any teams. Give him more morphine." His cries subsided, and he calmed down, slipping back into his dreams.

_She lay there next to him, bathing in the sunlight that kissed her bronzed skin. A playful smirk danced across her lips and he wondered what she was dreaming about. He had a few ideas, but he didn't entertain them. He dared not share them with her when she awakened._

_They weren't partners, they weren't lovers. They were just..._

_Friends. For some reason, that word made him feel uneasy. It felt foreign in reference to his relationship with her. It didn't have much weight, although she insisted that it did._

_Suddenly, her eyes opened, but they weren't the warm honey gaze that he was beginning to cherish. They were deep pools of black ink, drawing him in slowly. He looked her over once more and realized that she had matured physically in a matter of minutes. _

_This was not the same woman. Then she changed again, her skin becoming as pale as the moonlight, and her frame shrinking significantly into a woman he'd never seen before, yet she felt familiar. Her dark eyes were full of defiance and mischief, but an unbridled strength in character resided there as well._

"What has happened to Subject X? Has he survived the Sequencing?"

"He hasn't been tested yet; we have a problem."

"What?"

"He's bleeding from the nose, as well as the eyes, and the doctors can't stop it. They're saying that he's going into convulsions every ten minutes."

"What the heck is going on?"

"He's...dying, sir. The host is trying to regain control. They're putting him back into the stasis chamber to reconfigure the DNA."

"Good. It took 7 years to bring him back and a lot of resources from generous supporters."

"This guy seems to be making the transition smoothly."

"He is. The closer the genetic ties are, the easier the DNA synthesis becomes. That's why we need Altaïr's other closely related descendant."

"Where is he?"

"We still don't have a lead, but I assume that he hasn't left the United States. All we need is one little slip-up on his part."

* * *

Early the next morning, Leila opened her eyes, suddenly awake. She wasn't tired, there was no need to rub the sleep out of her eyes. She was just...up.

Already, the heat was baking the ground, and the sun was turning the sky a pinkish orange color while the moon was barely visible over the horizon.

She peeled the blankets off of her, and stepped onto the warm sand, stretching her arms and legs.

"Mornin'," Michelle said softly, startling her. "Sorry."

"Are you a morning person?" she asked.

"Sometimes. Today was one of those days. Aasim loved to sleep in." At mention of his name, they both felt the void and neither knew how to overcome it. A small _beepbeep_ coming from one of the backpacks drew Michelle's attention and she grabbed the bag, zipping it open to reveal a solid red lap top. "Weird. This thing rarely gets messages," she mumbled, prying open its screen.

It asked if the user wanted to open the message and she clicked yes.

Immediately, a window opened and Leila almost instantly recognized the signature. It was the same person who had warned them before.

'SUBJECT HIDDEN. ALIVE. RDVZ 31.2000N29.9167E. 7/12.'

"Wait a minute..." Leila whispered. It was too good to be true. She read on.

'RESCUE POSSIBLE. ONE TO ENTER: L.S. NO MORE. URGENT TO ACT QUICKLY.'

"Leila, this person knows where you are."

"And that I'm the only one who can save Altaïr."

* * *

**Tada! I haven't forgotten about this story. I just needed time to sort out what direction the end will take. It was a decision between the whole group going or Leila going alone. I decided to do alone because Leila...well, she's spoiled. She needs to be tested out and show what she's made of. She comes from Assassins, so she needs to prove it.**

**I know the POVs are a little confusing, but the questions people had about Altaïr's resurrection have been answered! Right? If not, please tell me. I'll try to address any questions people may have before I post the last chapter, which is chapter 28.**

**I have been requested to do a sequel to this story, but that depends entirely on how I choose to end this story. There's a huge gap between Leila's story and Desmond's story. He gets caught in September 2012, hers ends roughly mid-July 2011. If I do a sequel, I will wait a little bit, finish my other stories I've neglected and then start on it. I can't make any promises that I'll muster up enough creativity to do a part 2.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Here we are, at the end of the road. Be sure to read my ending note at the bottom of the page.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar to the series belong to me.**

**-Sivan IXXX**

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Absolution**

"Leila, you can't go in there alone," Michelle protested. The younger woman was silent as she stuffed a bag full of necessities: a change of clothes, some food rations, and a canteen. The other Assassins were watching her, determination like a fire in her eyes. Xena was rubbing her very round belly again, her hazel eyes filled with unease.

"I have to," she stated quietly.

"Leila_—"_

"Michelle, I can't just sit here and let them kill him! Whoever this person is knows he's still alive and can be saved!" she burst. Her eyes softened. "Altaïr needs my help; he's my friend."

Finally, she began to understand and sighed, nodding her head. "Alright. I'll let you go. If this...if this is the last time we'll see each other...I'm glad we finally met, Leila. Aasim would be proud of you." With tears in her eyes, Leila hugged her close, wishing Michelle could go with her at least into the city.

But this was _her_ rescue mission. Her first_—_and probably her last. "Try not to think of the bad things. I clam up when people do," she joked. They both laughed awkwardly for a few moments, and then Michelle handed her the keys to the SUV.

"Take care of it if you can. Make sure you fill it up before you come back."

"I will."

"May fortune smile down on you," Dantilus' brother, Nicolaus told her.

"Thanks."_ I hope so too. I'll need all the fortune I can get _Leila thought as she tossed her bag into the passenger seat before climbing inside. She put the key in the ignition, said a silent prayer, and drove off.

* * *

He wasn't aware that he was asleep until someone was tapping him lightly on the shoulder. A light blinded him from above; he couldn't move his arms to shield his eyes.

"Just relax." It was soft, feminine voice resonating in his ears. The brown-haired woman from earlier. "I'm not here to hurt you." She turned off the light and adjusted his bed so that he was sitting up. Her eyes were brighter than their previous encounter as she watched him for a moment.

"When will they kill me?" he asked.

"In about four hours," she replied. "They'll induce a coma, and then shut down your organ systems one by one after they harvest all the data that they need."

"I do not know what it is they are seeking inside my mind, but I'd rather they do it now."

"Don't say that. You should appreciate the little time you have left. I've done a cross analysis of your brain waves versus those of Subject X; it's as if someone went inside your memories and scrubbed them clean. Your mind is choosing which moments to remember and which to reject. And unlike the other Subjects, you don't have any receptors in your nervous system."

"What does this mean?"

"You can choose to accept or reject the commands that the Device gives you."

"What Device?"

"Adamian Saffar's master computer."

"Leila's father?" he asked.

"Yes. I would say more, but the monitors are going back online shortly." She came close with a miniature flashlight and shined it in his eye. "You'll need those four hours to get ready," she muttered. He was bewildered; she was obviously employed by the Templars, yet she was trying to assure him and bring him hope.

"I don't need your false sympathy, Templar."

"Believe what you want, Master Assassin. I am merely the Iris of your salvation, even if you don't see it." She clicked off the flash light, staring into his eyes. "Your Soteria will be here soon enough." And with that, she hurried out the door.

* * *

It was almost midday already.

Leila went to the exact coordinates_—_a small, inconspicuous alley beneath the highway. So far, only a stray cat and loose paper bags had come her way. She was getting anxious; maybe it was a trap, and she had willingly fallen into it. But for some reason, her conscience was telling her that the contact was legitimate.

Another ten minutes passed and she sighed, going for the keys in the ignition; however, upon looking up, she stopped.

Her contact was here, a small woman in a black hoodie, a pair of sunglasses, and some tattered jeans. If anything, she looked like the person who slept under the freeway.

"Are you my contact?" she asked as the woman approached.

"Yes. My name is Ilana. I can get you in past security, but my employee card can only get you so far." She glanced at the car. "We'll have to walk. And you'll need to wear these," she revealed a pair of plastic cuffs.

"I'm going in...as a captured Assassin?" Leila asked.

"It's the only way to avoid suspicion. If you had tried to sneak in, they'd know immediately." She stared at the woman for a moment before extended her hands to her. Ilana wasted little time fastening them to her wrists and then led her along.

"Are you an Assassin?"

"That's not important. If you succeed, then I'll tell you. Your friend needs your help, which is more important than anything." They stopped at the first street corner, allowing traffic to pass through the intersection. No one seemed to notice or care that she had been apprehended by a homeless woman.

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because I know love when I see it. And cruel destiny shouldn't be the consequence of something so beautiful." Leila swallowed hard; was she really that easy to read?

"Is it that obvious?" she asked quietly.

* * *

"We have to stabilize the subject!"

"I thought the stasis pod would work!"

"It is, but we no longer have control over him! The receptors in his nervous system are_—_" The glass windows crashed open, and the doctor found himself cornered. The scientist who was trying to calm Subject X was dead in just a matter of seconds, his neck cleanly snapped in two.

"You dare try to pacify me?" he hissed angrily, marching towards the smaller man.

"If your heart keeps stopping and starting the way it does, you could die! We only want to_—" _The doctor was silenced as the Templar wrapped his hand around his neck.

"Your voice...it annoys me, like a fly. And like a fly, you must be exterminated." Robert squeezed until the tips of his fingers met, and then dropped the now lifeless body onto the floor. He stepped over the fresh corpse and focused his sights on the gleaming piece of steel sitting before him.

It was beautiful. Stainless, pure silver, and desirable, yet deadly.

"I...am the Grand Master of the Templars. All others will bow before me, Robert De Sable."

* * *

The security guards were almost identical in height, weight and facial expression. Neither bothered to look at the pair of young women passing through the metal detectors, silent and nervous as a pair of field mice out in the open.

_We're gonna get caught, and then they're going to probe my brain and kill me and do the same to Altaïr. I just know it. Wait...I can't think like this or I'll really mess this up. I have to think positively...for myself. For him. For everyone... _

"You've both been cleared. Take the girl straight to the boss. He'll want to see her in the flesh," one of the security guards grunted. Ilana nodded and grabbed Leila by the hook of her elbow.

"Just stay quiet and close to me. My boss is probably going to ask you a bunch of questions before he does anything drastic. He's also very unpredictable; he likes young, pretty girls, so be on guard," her voice wavered as she pushed the button for the elevator. The sleek metal doors quickly slid open and they stepped inside.

Leila thought about her words for a moment, then turned to her. "Ilana, did he_—"_

_"_No," she replied defensively. "I'd never let some philandering idiot like him do that. I still have my dignity." Her eyes were darting and wet, and then she started fumbling with her fingers.

"Ilana, is that why you're helping me?" she asked softly. The other Middle Eastern woman turned to her, dabbing at her eyes.

"Your friend has no reason to die. He was created to be a guinea pig for their experiments. That's unfair; he was resting in his grave until now. And you. I can tell he loves you, too. He tries not to show how he really feels, but I can see it in his eyes. And the memories he chose to keep_—_most of them have you in them. You two deserve to be together." She spoke as if recalling a distant memory.

"Did you lose someone you loved?"

"Yes," she closed her eyes painfully. "About a year ago."

"I'm sorry," Leila whispered.

Ilana looked up to the ceiling, releasing a shaky breath. "It's not your fault. I realize now that I've been blind this whole time." Finally, the elevator opened to the twenty-third floor and they stepped out into the wide, rectangular room. The walls were stark white with a black flag hanging from the ceiling, its front bearing a blood red triangular symbol. The air was stale and cold, as if the air conditioning had been left on all night and into the day.

Leila shuddered from the cold and the sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach as they walked towards the solid black door at the other end of the room. Something told her that the man she was about to meet had something to do with it. "What will he do with me when he's done?"

"Leila...I-I don't know."

The door opened quickly, and a man in a white lab coat with a grey beard stepped out. He scrutinized the young women for a moment, his black, beady eyes expressionless and cold. "Is this Adamian's daughter?"

"Yes. I caught her several hours after their hideout in Cairo was destroyed."

His eyes lit up in approval as he nodded his head. "Very well, Ilana. Rikkin is in his office, expecting her." With that, he went about his way and they went through the door.

"Are you ready, Leila?"

"No," she admitted. "How are you going to help me from this point on?"

"Once you've been examined and confined, they'll send you to the pseudoscience department. There's a medical wing there. Your friend will be in a room secured by two dead weights made of concrete and a 10-digit keycode. I'll release you first, but you must feign illness in order for me to get to you. From that point on, we'll have to make it up as we go."

"Alright. I feel much better going in there now," she chuckled. It felt like it had been forever since she'd laughed. It may have been her last. They stared at one another for a moment, each hesitant to let the other go alone.

"You'll be okay, Leila." Ilana cut the cuffs and then walked away.

Huffing, she pushed open the next door to a large office with gray carpet and wide, tall windows with cross-shaped panes. That same flag hung proudly from the ceiling. _The Templars sure do make their presence known._

"Leila Saffar," a husky, ominous voice announced. She jumped slightly, searching for the source. "Your father and I were good friends." His voice was closer than before. He emerged from the shadows in a black, expensive-looking suit, his dark hair slicked back perfectly. Everything about him screamed excellency.

She stood in her place, hands fisted at her sides as he walked towards her until they were just a foot apart. His chiseled features and gray eyes would make a lot of her contemporaries swoon, but there was a darkness that surrounded him. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, which held no shimmer or lively glow at all. They were deadpan, like an imitation of a human being. She suddenly wished she had at least an ink pen to defend herself if he got too close.

"And you are?"

"Daniel Rikkin. One of the main shareholders of Abstergo. I'm sure you don't remember me, but I attended your parents' funeral." He leaned in a little, and she faltered in her stance. His glare was intense. "How are you recovering from their deaths?"

Her parents were a subject she hadn't touched in weeks. "U-um, the worst part is over."

"That's excellent to hear, considering you recently lost your home, as well."

A brief image of the metropolitan home appeared, all its lavish furnishings, imported rugs and tables, fancy wine glasses and such. "I liked it, but I don't mind moving. It's a chance for me to try something new."

He smiled again, then backed away, towards his desk. Daniel was looking at something on his computer. "Is that why you're here in Egypt; looking for family, maybe? I know your mother is from here. She was beautiful, like you." He looked up at her, the screen giving his face an eerie glow.

Leila smiled nervously, and then ran a hand through her curls. She was trying to look as unattractive as possible, but men usually went for the tousled, windswept hair. _I should really consider throwing pepper in my eyes and tearing my clothes...wait. He might like that._ She shuddered inwardly, but apparently he could read her body language.

"You okay, Leila? You don't have to be nervous." He straightened and walked toward her like a lion would its prey, slow and deliberate. "Come, sit." His hand found the small of her back, coercing her gently by curling his fingers around her waist. Leila wanted to elbow him in the side, but she fought her other half for the sake of Altaïr and herself.

She sat in the comfortable leather chair, but kept her eyes on him. _Why won't he just come out and say, 'You will tell me everything about the Assassins or I'll kill you and your friend'? All of this pillow talk is driving me crazy._

"Now, I know Ilana captured you after the Assassins were attacked, but you don't have to be afraid of punishment. I know you were with them willingly." Leila felt her throat dry as her mind went blank; how was was she supposed to respond to that? "Shocked to hear the truth? Leila, I'm a reasonable person, so be reasonable with me; don't lie and nothing bad will happen. The Assassin, Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad_—_what is your relationship with him?"

_So he's still alive? I have time._ "We're friends."

"Really?" he sounded surprised. "I searched his recent memories; the ones containing you reveal otherwise. His pheromone levels rose significantly when reliving them. Want to explain that?"

"How is this relevant to my being here?" she asked.

"You two...seem closer than you say. Are there any chances that you're gestating?"

Leila's face reddened. "Of course not. He never touched me inappropriately."

He examined her face for a moment. "Good. Your father would have been disappointed. He always spoke highly of you, how high your test scores were, your imagination and passion for animals. I imagine that you'd be an excellent CEO of his company and a powerful ally of Abstergo." _So that's what this is all about? Joining companies to have more control. _

Daniel got to his feet, circling his desk. Leila felt her hands grow sweaty and slick against the wooden arms of the chair. She could feel the walls closing in. "Is that what this is about? More power?" she asked, swallowing hard.

He chuckled deep in his throat. "In a way, yes. Abstergo earns close to a billion dollars every year in pharmaceuticals, household products, and basic necessities such as soap and toothpaste. Saffar Oil rakes in three times as much, so we would both benefit in the end, wouldn't we?" She stared hard the grooves in the polished mahogany surface of the table until she felt his presence directly behind her. He leaned in close, the tip of his chin brushing her shoulder. "If we create ties in more than one area, I may be able to help you," he purred. His warm breath tickled the flesh of her ear, and she jumped out of the chair to face him.

"If you're talking about marriage, no way. You can have my company, just leave me alone." She backed away slowly as he approached until she was stuck against the wall. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over her as he put his hands on either side of her. Leila tried her best to control her breathing as he leaned in again.

"It's not that simple. The company would lose half its worth if a Saffar isn't in control. Just think, Leila. I can protect you from the people who want you dead; they're two floors above us. I can give you everything you want and need: money, a house, cars, clothes. You'd be free to live the life you've always wanted," he concluded as he grazed her cheek with his thumb. Shuddering, she cast her eyes to the ground.

This was her ticket out. She could go back to waking up every day without a care in the world, do what she wanted, say what she wanted. Travel the world at her leisure, try everything eccentric and new. A clean slate, a new life.

"As tempting as that is..." she replied, looking up at him. He began to frown, for he knew what she was going to say next. "I have to decline. Life isn't about taking it easy while so many other people suffer. That's unfair to have all this freedom while the majority don't. I've lived as a billionaire my whole life, and I have to admit, it's pretty boring," she laughed. "I wasn't happy, being all alone in that house without my family. It wasn't until... Altaïr came into my life that I realized I wasn't dead. In a way, he gave me purpose. He made me realize that I have a life to live as an Assassin, and do my part. Whatever happens from this point on happens."

Daniel dropped his arms to his sides, veiling his disappointment very well._ Too_ well. "Alright. I could have saved you from all the horrible tests they're going to do." He pulled out a cell phone, dialed a number and headed for the door. Leila let out the breath she had been holding. Before he closed the door, he glanced at her, "You won't see your friend ever again, if that's your dying wish." And with a finalizing slam of the door, she was alone.

_Well, that wasn't as difficult as I thought...now I just do as they say, get to Ilana, and then save Altaïr. This sounds so easy, but I know it won't_ be... Just as she finished her thoughts, two men in black uniforms came through the door and marched to her, snatching her by the arms. She went along, allowing them to practically drag her down the hallway. Everything in the Abstergo building was white, sleek, and plastic. The odorless smell in the air bothered her. It was _too_ clean. She wondered how often their employees got sick.

They entered the elevator and stood in silence until the doors opened to what looked like a doctor's office, replete with medical supplies and the smell of hydrogen peroxide. "You will be cleaned, examined and tested for any viruses, anomalies, and defects before they synchronize you to the system."

"Synchronize?" she echoed. One guard let her go, while the other pushed her in the direction of the bed.

"You'll know soon enough," he huffed before they both left the room. Leila stuck her tongue out at them and picked up the folded garment on the bed. It was a gown_—_with a closed back, thankfully. Sighing, she removed her shirt and then her khaki pants before jumping onto the hard bed, kicking her legs in the air. The pressure was beginning to set in again. Daniel's offer would have been the wisest course of action, but she was not one to back down. His superiors were informed of her decision, no doubt, and had decided her fate was to die in that facility.

Death. She'd be in the ground, decaying like her parents, or maybe Abstergo didn't bury; maybe they incinerated to get rid of evidence. Or maybe they did it mob-style: dump the body in the sea. Any way that they decided to do it didn't matter; she'd be unaware.

_I can't think like that. I'm going to get out of here, live a good life, get married maybe, have a kid or two, and live until I'm ninety. But...what am I going to do with __Altaïr?_ she thought. She could barely remember his face and it had only been three days since he was captured. Just the thought of hearing his voice made a very foreign chill creep up her spine and rattle the cage she called a heart._ I...love him. I've never felt this way before about someone_ she concluded, placing her hand over her heart._ But he'll never have me. He deserves a stronger woman than me, which is why I'm going to get him out of here. _

"Miss Saffar," Ilana's voice interrupted her revelation. Leila was bewildered; wasn't she supposed to feign sickness? The doctor was concentrating on the clipboard in her hand. "How old are you?"

"22."

"Height?"

"Five feet, three inches."

"Weight?"

"Fifty two kilograms."

"Are you sexually active?"

Leila turned red. "No."

"Any history of seizures, severe depression or thoughts of suicide?"

She hesitated."No."

"Good." She put down the clipboard and approached Leila with the flashlight, leaning in very close.

"I thought I was supposed to fake sick," she whispered.

"Change of plans. They really want to connect you to that machine."

"What machine?"

"I can't explain it all, but your father's old office has a hidden office with an unbreakable code. They want you to open it."

"What's in there?"

"I think it has something to do with Project Revelation. There are cameras everywhere, so we have to be discreet. Lay down." Leila did as she asked, and Ilana put the blanket over her. She went through the double swinging doors and guided the bed down the hall.

"Where are we going?" she whispered.

"To the exam room. I have to do a CAT scan before they do anything. I have the cameras in that wing scheduled to shut down in five minutes. Once they're down, you have fifteen minutes before they reboot. Your friend is in the stasis room, probably heavily sedated before his final memory purge. I managed to get a copy of the code sequence used to open the door; I'll give it to you once the cameras shut down. When_—" _The lab doors swished open, and all the color drained from Ilana's face.

"Lucy."

"Ilana. Aren't you supposed to be somewhere else?" her voice dripped with venom, although it could've been really sweet if she were a nice person.

"I was assigned to take care of the Saffar girl until they were ready for her."

Leila looked over at the woman foreign to her; she was cute, in a pixie kind of way. Golden blond hair tied back into a neat bun, smooth, creamy skin, and icy blue eyes. But her lips were thin, and hardly any traces of emotion were readable on her face.

"Change of plans. I'll be taking care of her. Vidic's orders." Leila began to panic; this wretch of a woman was going to be unkind to her, and certainly wasn't going to help her break out Altaïr. This wasn't a part of the plan. Daniel was right; she wasn't going to see him ever again. She'd die alone, unmarried, childless. She had gotten so close.

Ilana hesitated to leave, and Lucy shot her a look even Altaïr wouldn't want to receive. "Ilana," she stated firmly. The brunette took one long, forlorn look at Leila, as if to say, 'I'm sorry,' and left the room. The blond turned her sights to Leila, and she felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her stare was intense, yet cold for a moment before she turned away. "It's hard to believe you're an Assassin; you look so young. And innocent."

"As far as I can tell, you aren't much older than me," she replied. It was so strange to hear her voice in English; her accent was so heavy. Lucy turned to face her and narrowed her eyes.

"Where are you from, Leila?"

"Jerusalem."

The mobile woman picked up the clipboard, scrutinizing her answers. "The center of the Holy Land. It's amazing that one of the greatest Assassins in history ends up in a forest just a mile away from your house. Just short of a miracle."

"I guess. I feel badly for him, being brought to this time only to be pinned down and have his brain probed."

"That's not the real Altaïr; it is a _copy_ of him, his DNA. We created him with the purpose of showing us where the Devices are located."

"Even if he is just a copy, he's still human. He bleeds, he gets sick, he has a heart and he has feelings. Sounds like more than just a guinea pig to me." She glared at the blond, who was still just as stoic as before.

"Of course, if anyone were to fall in love, they'd rationalize and reason to get what they want. It's sad, really; you two will never see each other again. You should have taken Daniel's offer. A chance to have a new life is better than dying for a lost cause."

"The Assassin's cause is not lost. As long as the Templars want to force the world into submission, the Assassins will be there to stop them. We may have lost some, maybe even more than I realize, but they died knowing it wasn't for nothing. Some of them had husbands and wives. Some were going to be parents for the first time in their lives, but they knew the weight of their sacrifice. If I am going to die today, it'll be worth a lot more than a coward's way out through false charity." They stared at one another, and Leila was almost sure that she saw uncertainty in her eyes. And even a bit of fear.

"Your mind seems pretty made up. I hope you find what you're looking for," she replied quickly. If she didn't know any better, there was a slight trembling in her voice.

_Serves her right for trying to make me feel like a lost idiot._ Just as Lucy put her hands on the rolling bed, her walkie-talkie buzzed with excited chatter. "Lucy, come in!"

Sighing, she picked it up. "Yes?"

"We have to evacuate the building! Robert De Sable is unstable! He's killed at least fifteen of our guards! The receptors in his brain have malfunctioned!"

"What?" she hissed, turning away from the girl.

"We don't know how, but he got to the staff! He's using it to—Aaaah!" he screamed, and then the receiver went dead.

"Darn it," Lucy grumbled, putting her hands on her hips. "I had to know this wasn't going to work without the complete formula." Her azure eyes turned to Leila and she grabbed her by the arm. "Get up. We're going upstairs." Her bony, cold hands were itchy against her warm skin as she dragged her down the hall through the doors.

The alarms grew louder as they marched to the elevators, where Lucy swiped her ID card. The scanner beeped twice, but failed to open the door. The mechanical voice spoke, "Electrical systems critically damaged. Please use maintenance stairs to your left." Lucy pushed open the door and climbed the stairs with Leila in tow, her breaths growing heavy with each flight they reached.

The brunette was trying her best to keep up, but she was quickly losing strength. People started pouring into the stairwell and shoving each other down the stairs. Some were covered in blood, others were as white as their lab coat. Lucy pressed through the crowds and finally went through the door leading to the twenty fourth floor.

There were a few bodies on the carpeted floor, lying face down in nearly dry pools of blood. Leila felt her heart clench at the sight; it reminded her of the night she burned her home to the ground. So much death...too much for her. It had to end somehow.

"Your father was one of the most brilliant scientists in the pseudoscience department; it's a shame he turned his back on us. He could've still been alive." Leila ripped her arm away from the blond, who looked bewildered.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. Her eyes were burning and her throat was swelling shut. Lucy's lips formed a thin line, and Leila, shoved her, hard. "What do you _mean_?!" she shrieked.

The blond woman recovered from her slight tumble and slapped the younger woman across the face. "Adamian Saffar was no use to us alive anymore, so we got rid of him. A man as smart as he was, he should've known he was going to die soon after he defected."

"My father...was a Templar?" she asked, holding her stinging cheek.

"Yes. But it turns out he was an Assassin all along. He managed to fool a lot of people into thinking he was one of us. He created the machine that resurrected Robert De Sable and Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad, as well as at least thirty others." Lucy turned away from Leila, rummaging through a black file cabinet for something.

"Others?"

"Your father experimented with the idea of transferring DNA from one body to another, a resurrection of some sort. The first attempts were unsuccessful from the beginning; that was when he figured using the descendants of Assassins rather than random hosts makes the synthesis have a higher success rate. Altaïr and Robert were pure chance. But they're not perfect copies."

"How so?"

Lucy seemed to be coming to the end of her search; she grabbed Leila and directed her towards the paneling on the wall. "They can't be controlled. Press your hand on this wall." Leila refused to move and the blond huffed.

"Do it," she hissed. She pulled out a gun and aimed it at her chest. "Do it, or I'll shoot you and do it myself." Lucy pushed her into the wall, and Leila pushed back against her. The pistol flew out of their reach as they both fell to the floor and started to pull and claw at whatever their hands touched.

* * *

He continued to fall in and out of consciousness, the constant blaring of the alarm becoming ever clearer.

"Fires on levels 12, 17, 22 and 23. Evacuate the building immediately; casualties exceedingly high," the voice on the P.A announced.

Groaning loudly, Altaïr sat up, holding his temples to stop the throbbing in his skull. His brain felt like it was floating in water; all of his memories were jumbled together, but he remembered Robert's blade being driven through his stomach. And the look of absolute horror on Leila's face.

Leila. He hoped that she was safe; she had done more than enough to prove her bravery. There was no need for her to be in harm's way anymore; they had him—exactly what they wanted. But he knew better than to think that the Templars wouldn't be so callous as to go after his loved—

_Wait._ A small voice inside his head paused his train of thought. He had never said it aloud or even to her; so why was it natural to feel that way, to come to that conclusion? When had this happened, the sensation of not being able to breathe, let alone think about anyone else constantly, except for that one person? This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to happen the first time, but it did.

However, he didn't regret it. The emotion was dangerous, and very little separated it from its polar opposite, but it was also very powerful and capable of making an individual do things they never would have done had they not felt that way. Perhaps that was why she was willing to put herself in harm's way to save him from certain death.

Suddenly, the doors swished open, and he could hear the alarm even louder in the hall. People were running and shouting at one another as they all headed in one direction, but the same woman who had helped him before was as calm as ever. She seemed a bit worried.

"She's here," she told him. That fact surprised him greatly, but he didn't show it; how had she gotten in among all the chaos? As if she could read his mind, she added, "I helped her get in, but that's not important right now. Subject X escaped with one of the Devices, but they managed to pin him down on one of the lower levels. If it weren't for him, this escape plan wouldn't have been as easy. We have to find Leila and get out of here."

"Where could she be?" he asked, getting to his feet. The floor was cold, thus making him tremble at the shock. The brunette went to a closet and opened it, grabbing some clothes and tossing them to him. A paper thin gown was no way to escape from the building unnoticed. She turned her back to let him get dressed.

"I don't know. Lucy's security access card showed that she was trying to go up on the elevator. I'll see if I can find a video recording of her." She started out the door, but he grabbed her by the hook of her elbow.

"Wait," he demanded. She turned to face him, a confused look on her face. "Why are you helping us?"

A small grin crept onto her lips. "I'm an Assassin, brother. Now let's go," she urged him, hurrying down the corridor with him in tow. The surveillance room had a dozen small TV screens, each projecting the cameras on one level. Ilana sat in the chair and typed in something quick. All of the screens changed angles simultaneously, and she leaned forward, trying to spot Leila.

"There!" Altaïr exclaimed, pointing at the camera on level 24. She was in a gown as he was moments ago, with another woman with light-colored hair. There was no sound, but he could see that they weren't on friendly terms. Something the blond woman said must have upset her greatly; he nearly jumped when Leila pushed the woman as hard as she did.

"That's Lucy," Ilana breathed. "There's nothing on level 24 but—wait..." Lucy slapped Leila hard in the face, revealing the shiny black metal that stood out clear against the pale skin of her waist. "You have to get up there!" He too noticed the dangerous object and immediately made a rush out the door and to the elevator, praying it wasn't too late.

* * *

Leila was just about ready to give in; Lucy had been winning for the past three minutes. Her nails had left fine scratches along the length of her forearm, causing the area to burn profusely. She had even gotten a chance to smash her head into the floor a few times before Leila kicked her off.

"Just give up already," the blond hissed like a snake. Her bony hands were trying to secure Leila's hands, and failing miserably.

"I'll give up when I'm dead," she grunted.

"That can be arranged." She ceased in her efforts to restrain her and went for her neck instead. Leila gasped for air, trying to claw at Lucy's face. She simply leaned back and continued to apply pressure to her windpipe. Her throat started to burn, her eyes began to water, and her hearing was fading.

She was almost completely gone when she heard Lucy exclaim, "What the—" before she was violently ripped from off the top of her body and tossed with a loud 'oomf'.

Someone was at her side, breathing heavily on her face, but her eyes were closed. "Leila," his husky voice pleaded softly. How badly she wanted to open her eyes and jump into his arms, but she couldn't. She felt numb all over, like her nerves were asleep. "Leila." He thumbed her cheek, and she began to cough violently. He scooped her torso into his arms and rubbed her back.

After a few moments, the coughing ceased, and she pulled away to look up at him. In that moment, everything around them stopped. His eyes were burning with a fiery, intense emotion, but she couldn't tell which it was. "You saved me. Again," she exhaled.

"Would you prefer if I hadn't?" he asked in a less than serious tone. She was too excited to see him to get upset. Daniel Rikkin was wrong. Lucy was wrong; he was here, in the flesh, holding her. It almost seemed surreal.

"Of course not," she said softly, pressing her forehead into his. "I wanted to see you again."

It was Altaïr's turn to pull away and stare at her. He seemed uneasy. "Leila, I—" A loud bang resonated in the air, and milliseconds later, he was on the ground, clenching a bleeding shoulder. He whipped his head angrily in the direction the bullet came from, and Leila did as well.

"Well, well, well. It seems I came to the right floor," Daniel chuckled, walking towards them with the 9 millimeter in his hand. Leila put herself in front of Altaïr, watching his movements carefully. "I was wondering where Adamian had hidden his secrets."

"You won't find them," she spat angrily.

"Oh, I know, Leila," he replied, then aimed his gun at the wounded Assassin. "But I will kill him and make you watch. However, a bullet is too quick; I think I'd play it out a bit. Maybe I'll tie him up and get a knife and maim him a little," he sneered. "Whatever I decide to do, you will witness every moment, every scream, every limb being pried from his body."

"You're sick!" she yelled. Daniel's smile faded, and he used the butt of his gun to hit her on the head. Yelping in pain, she crashed to the floor next to her companion, trying to regain composure after such a hard hit.

"Even if I am, so what? This will be well worth losing our facility here in Alexandria. My uncle will be pleased when he finds out I destroyed Adamian's greatest success." He lifted the pistol once again, and Leila closed her eyes. The gun fired loudly in her ears, but she heard Daniel fall to the floor with a soft grunt.

She opened her eyes and nearly screamed in disbelief.

Aasim was alive. He had a silver M9 in his hand, his lips thin in anger. "I hated that guy. Such a pompous jerk." He turned his sights to Leila who was still staring at him as if he had three heads. "What? You should be used to fake deaths by now." She was still speechless as he hurried over to Altaïr to check his arm. "Dang, he shot him close to his main artery. We have to get him out of here and patch that up quick." Even the eldest Assassin was bewildered by his sudden appearance, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"How did you survive the ordeal at the hideout?" he asked, struggling to get to his feet. Leila got to her feet as well, grimacing at the hole in his arm. Aasim looked at the both of them and nodded in affirmation before he headed for the stairwell. They followed close behind, her arm as support around his waist.

"They thought they had me cornered in my office. They threw in a grenade, and I escaped through the ventilation shaft. I had planned on getting inside this Abstergo building for months; it's a coincidence that it was the same day that you decided to come and play hero, lil sis." He opened the door to the stairwell and let them through first. Then Leila remembered something.

"Wait! Lucy was trying to get me to open a safe or something in Dad's old office."

"And?" her brother asked. "We have ten minutes to get out of here. I planted bombs on the base level to floor this place. Whatever Dad had to say, he could've said it before he died." Aasim started down the stairs and she once again stopped him.

"I have to know what he wrote._ We_ have to know what he wrote. It'll only take ten seconds. Just go without me, I'll be fine." He took in a heavy breath and resumed his descent while Altaïr stood there and stared at her.

"You can't," he stated firmly. His eyes were fierce and vice-like, but she could see the plea in his eyes. She couldn't give in; not just yet.

"I can, and I have to. It's all I have left of my father." The male Assassin nodded in understanding, and then he drew close to her. Leila felt her heart leap in her chest as he inclined his head.

First, their foreheads met, then he touched the tip of his nose to hers as he rested his feverish palm on the side of her face. She felt her entire body freeze over in blazing heat. "I'll be waiting for you." Leila lifted her head ever so slightly and their lips touched, sparking a fire that she couldn't put out.

Before she could even think, her body knew to deepen the contact, despite what he did. He hadn't reacted yet when she pulled away, slightly embarrassed at first. She didn't bother to say anything else before she rushed back inside; they would have lost their lives with the building if she stayed for a confrontation.

_So that's what it feels like to kiss an Assassin...well, anyone, in my case. He didn't even respond._ She was slightly disheartened at the fact, but she was glad to have done it, should she die before getting her father's belongings.

Once inside the room, she discovered that Lucy had fled as well, perhaps giving up on her objective.

"It has to be around here somewhere," she muttered aloud, pressing her palms flat on the onyx-colored wall. Finally, one of the black tiles pressed in and a thumb pad appeared.

"Please press your right thumb onto the pad," the console asked. She did so, watching the green laser scan her finger before it beeped. "DNA analysis accepted. Welcome, Adamian Saffar." An entire section of paneling split apart, allowing her into the dimly lit room. There were file cabinets everywhere, but only one black journal lay on the table in front of her. It read: 'A. Saffar' on the front in gold letters.

"Found it," she sighed, reaching for it. As soon as it was in her possession, someone yanked on her hair and slammed her into a body that felt like stone. "Aah!" she yelped.

"Ah, what do we have here?" his hissing tone questioned in amusement. "A pretty little girl. You're that Assassin coward's little harlot. I must have fortune's favor."

She turned to face him, gripping his wrist. "Robert De Sable. How'd you get free?"

"It'll take more than three puny little men to confine me," he sneered with a wicked smile. He was right; he was about a foot taller than her, if not even taller than that, and he wasn't thin and frail, either. "What's this we have here?" He snatched the book out of her hands. Leila reached for it, and he tugged harder on her hair, twisting it around his hand. She groaned loudly again. "No doubt it's important. I think I'll keep it."

"You don't even care about what's inside," she huffed defiantly. His gray eyes shot daggers at her.

"It will further the Templar cause, whatever it is. So I should thank you."

"This building is going to be completely destroyed in a few minutes; let me go. You have what you need."

"You're right. I do have everything I need, including you."

She furrowed her brows in bewilderment. He chuckled deep in his throat. "You see, in my time, I had my men bring me the most beautiful young women of the Arabic world. Call it a _penchant_ of sorts. You will serve your purpose as my plunder."

Immediately, she remembered Yusuf and how he had tried to rape her in that brothel. She had never been so fearful in her life. His dirty, grimy hands all over her body, his breath that reeked of alcohol and under cooked meat, and his jaundiced, sickly eyes that looked like pools of urine. It all brought a sickening feeling to her stomach, but she couldn't give in.

"No!" she screeched, kicking him hard in the groin. Yelling in agony, he let her hair and the book go and she grabbed it. Stumbling out of the room, she desperately searched for somewhere to hide. The office was wide and square with just a few tables that provided no cover of any sort. Her best bet was to run for the stairs.

"I'll find you! And you will be mine!" he boomed.

* * *

Aasim and Altaïr managed to fight through what guards remained at the rear entrance to the facility and opened the warehouse doors. The afternoon sun blazed hot against their faces as they walked towards the outskirts of the city.

"Something isn't right," Altaïr exhaled, gripping his bleeding arm. "She should have been right behind us."

"She'll make it. Leila's a smart girl." He glanced down at his watch. "She still has five minutes." Aasim watched him for a moment. "We have to stop the bleeding as soon as possible. You're looking a little pale."

Someone ducked under the warehouse door and started to crawl out. It was a brown-haired woman in a white lab coat, covered in blood and dirt. The same woman who had helped him escape.

"You," the elder Assassin demanded. She looked up, panicked. "Have you seen Leila?"

"I thought she was with you," she replied, a confused look on her face. "She's still inside?"

"Yes. Her father left a book behind. Only she could open the door."

"I...can't imagine what happened. Lucy escaped in the helicopter with Vidic and the other head Templars. Daniel is dead. Unless..." she dragged out, a grim expression on her face. Realization dawned in her features. "I have to go back inside."

* * *

Leila had never felt her heart beating as loudly as it was at that moment. She had made it to the ground floor, barely breathing, deeply terrified by the giant of a man chasing her, and desperate to escape with no way out. He was blocking the main entrance to the storage room while she was hiding behind a stack of large boxes.

"I promise it won't be painful. A woman as becoming as you must have experienced it once before. I will do everything if you're too shy," he said aloud. Leila gagged mentally and began looking for a weapon of some sort. There weren't any sharp objects nearby; not even a box cutter.

_Dang it. I'm never gonna get out of here. My only chance is if he moves out of the way of the door..._ She peeked over the boxes and noticed that he was still standing guard over the exit, scanning the room for her.

"Since you won't come out, I guess I'll have to look for you." She ducked back down and waited as his footsteps grew louder and louder. There were plenty of other places for her to hide, and she was in the far right corner, so he'd be looking long enough to allow her time to escape. "You are my little mouse, and I am the cat. I will find you trembling in fear, cowering in a corner, begging for your life."

As calmly as she could, she began crawling underneath the metal storage unit, trying not to disturb the plastic bags around her. She held her breath, listening to his every step as he moved about the room. The door was just maybe ten feet away and slightly ajar. Thankfully, the storage room light was dim.

"_J'ai trouve un belle fille, elle est le plus belle dans le monde..._" he began to sing. His voice was slowly growing louder, and then he began pushing the boxes over. "Where are you?!" he demanded, knocking over shelving units and cleaning supplies as he moved about the room. Now was her chance while he was busy wreaking havoc on the boxes and cans.

Clear of the shelving, Leila got to her feet and sprinted for the door, ripping it open violently. "Come back here!" he shouted, running after her.

She burst into tears, the moisture blurring her vision as she ran, desperate to reach the loading bay exit several hundred yards away. The garage smelled of oil and burned gasoline; there were a few trucks parked, but no one was left inside.

It was just her and that snake of a man chasing her.

Her leg muscles began to give out, but she continued to push herself. The metal doors were already halfway open; if she could just—

Something crashed into her, hard, and landed on top of her body. Her vision exploded into red dots as she tried to refocus, attempting to push whatever it was on her onto the floor.

"We will have our moment together," he growled, turning her onto her back.

She began to scream and wail at the top of her lungs, trying to push him off, but he was too heavy. His hands rested on her bare thighs for a moment, then slid her gown up to her navel. "Nooooo!" she pleaded. "Stop! Please!"

He covered her mouth with one hand, laughing as he did so. "I told you—"

"Robert!" a loud, authoritative voice said. His smile faded, and he turned around.

"If it isn't the Assassin coward. Are you ready to actually die this time?" he asked.

"Let her go," Altaïr demanded. He was still covering the bullet hole in his arm.

"You are greatly weakened by that wound, yet you still want a fight? Perhaps I was wrong about you," he stated in an amused tone. He released her and stood up. Leila got to her feet, pulling her gown down over her underwear. "A good fight is better than a quick lay." Robert snatched her by the arm, twisted it behind her back and then held his sword close to her neck. "But maybe another time, non?" he grinned evilly.

"Leave her alone Robert, and I won't kill you," he growled.

"Kill me? How can you kill me with your arm hanging dead at your side? Before you can get over here, her throat will be slit from ear to ear." Leila managed to speak up through the pain, "Don't give in to him, Altaïr!"

Out of frustration, Robert pressed the blade against her neck, and a small trickle of blood followed. Leila whimpered in pain, and Altaïr stepped forward.

"Ah, ah, ah," Robert said. "Any closer, and I'll be sure to separate her head from her body." She could feel the cold steel press into her throat, and her breaths hitched as he brought her into his chest.

Altaïr straightened his stance and glared hard at the pair.

"Scowl at me all you want, Assassin. But you won't win." The three stood in absolute silence before Altaïr turned his back to them and started to walk away. "I knew it. The Assassins are nothing but sniveling—"

Quicker than a flash of lightning, Altaïr turned and hurled a dagger at Robert. It lodged itself deep into his forehead. He grunted, reaching for the hilt bulging from his skull, and then dropped to the floor, landing with a hard thud. Leila ran to Altaïr and threw herself into his arms.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"We can exchange gratitude later; this building is going to be destroyed very soon." She nodded, although disappointed and ducked underneath the warehouse door. Aasim was waiting in the SUV with Ilana in the back. Leila smiled; she had made it!

"Come on!" he yelled. "We have ten seconds to get out of range!" They jumped in the car and Aasim immediately sped off down the road. Fortunately, the Abstergo building was closer to the desert than anything, away from other businesses and residential areas. "You stupid truck, come on!" The vehicle was struggling to get into the third gear and they had maybe four seconds left. Aasim looked down at his watch again. "Everybody get down!" he shouted.

The building began to implode, the glass windows shattering as the metal frame work melted in the intense heat. The other building materials were propelled in all directions, some of which came right at the truck. A wooden beam smashed into the back of the car, pushing it forward and onto its two front wheels.

Everyone inside yelled from the impact, and Aasim struggled to get control of the vehicle before it spun out. They were violently thrust from left to right, the tires screeching loudly. "Shoot," he hissed, turning the wheel left and right. "We might turn over! Hang onto something!" Leila felt Altaïr surround her body with his own and she closed her eyes.

True to his word, the SUV began to lose traction on its two right wheels and then they were in the air. They hadn't realized that there was a slight hill that they were driving across until the truck finally hit the sand and turned over and over again. Altaïr hadn't let her go; he held her tighter with each flip until they landed on the truck's roof.

He released her, and she slowly crawled out, her head and arms throbbing simultaneously. Aasim was coughing from all of the dust in the air, and Ilana was barely moving, her body in a twisted position. Leila looked back at the building; it was on fire and slowly crumbling to the ground. There were sirens blaring in the distance, but they seemed hollow and weak.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked. Aasim was helping Ilana out of the car; she was moaning softly in pain. Her right temple was covered in blood and her arm looked broken.

"We're fine," Aasim replied.

Altaïr hadn't said a thing. She crawled over to the car and grabbed him by the arms, careful not to agitate his wound. His eyes were closed and he was barely breathing. His arm was still bleeding badly.

"Altaïr!Altaïr!" Leila shouted at him. He didn't respond. "Wake up! Please!" She shook him, but he didn't stir at all.

She held back a sob, thumbing his cheek gently. Finally, he groaned softly, moving his arm a few inches before it fell to the dirt. He opened his eyes, seeing her face wrought with worry.

Why did it take him so long to realize that she was so beautiful?

His eyes began to close again as she leaned in. "Altaïr, everything will be okay," her voice faded in his head.

_"Everything will be okay." _

* * *

**Well, there you have it. The very last chapter of Leila's Tears, Heaven's Cry. I want to thank everyone who followed me 3 years into this story, dealing with the delays in updates, the terrible writing in the beginning, etc. But know this, you all helped make this story what it is through faves, follows and reviews. **

**I had a suggestion to do a sequel to this story, but I have no idea as to how it would tie to Desmond's story. He's way over in the United States when this story ends, which is mid-2011. I'd love to do a second part, but it won't go very far. So unfortunately, Leila's story has run its course.**

**There will be an epilogue, so don't worry; we will find out what happens to everyone and what's inside Adamian Saffar's journal.**

**Any questions? Please PM me. ^^**

**Thank you UbiSoft for allowing me to use your characters for my lame attempt at a good story.**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: The icing on the cake. I'm sorry if the last chapter ended so abruptly; I was trying to go for this sudden build in tension when everyone is on the edge of their seat, and then it suddenly ends and everything mellows out, but I guess it didn't work...*sigh***

**Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Ubisoft, so please do not sue. However, Leila and all other characters unfamiliar to the series belong to me.**

**-Sivan IXXX**

* * *

**Epilogue: Decisions**

"Hey." She shook him gently. He didn't move. "Hey."

He groaned a little, swatting his arm at the hand on his shoulder. "You need to wake up, so I can dress your wound." Opening his eyes one by one, he sat up, feeling life return to his bullet wound. It was still throbbing and numb, but it was burning where his shoulder and arm met and joined together.

"Why is it burning?" he asked.

"Because your body is fighting any possible infections by becoming inflamed at the entrance site. I took the bullet out; now I have to re-wrap your shoulder before it starts bleeding again." He nodded in understanding, and Ilana began to clean the dry blood before inserting a needle into his skin. The Assassin winced only slightly as she went to work at sealing the hole.

"You've done this before, haven't you? Well, guns didn't exist, but you know what I mean, right?" she asked. Altaïr recalled all of the times he wound up hiding in an abandoned hut somewhere in the Holy Land, bleeding, aching, and alone. He had been forced to destroy three of his robes because of a stab wound or a broken bone. There were nights when he was too tired to bind himself up, so he laid there and rested until he could, and then staggered back home to his chambers.

"Many times more than I'd liked," he replied. She began to wrap the bandage around and around until she could tuck its end in neatly.

"There. Hopefully, you won't need to get stitches for another bullet wound."

"Thank you. I shouldn't have doubted your sincerity."

Ilana gave him a small, humble smile. "It's alright. I was an Abstergo employee, so naturally, you'd be suspicious. If you want to find Leila, she's in the other hut, reading her dad's journal."

"Thank you." Altaïr got to his feet, stretched out the vertebrae in his spine, and then stepped out into the warm, muggy night. There wasn't a building in sight; they must have made it to another hideout in the desert. There was one other long house made of metal a short distance away; he began walking towards it and hesitated to knock when he made it to the front door.

* * *

"'I have decided to continue with Project Revelation. The first several experiments showed where there were flaws. Instead of splicing the DNA, remove it altogether and replace it with another complete strand of someone with common ancestry. This expedites the transfer and decreases the amount of pain."

Leila turned another page. "I have managed to complete the DNA purge, but the subject died before the new DNA could be inserted into the bone marrow. The subject suffered three intense strokes before the heart failed just thirty seconds later. If I could figure out exactly what's causing the death, I could reverse it or delay it until the process is complete.

I brought in another subject; this time, it only took twenty seconds for the heart to die. I'm starting to believe that this project will be unsuccessful every time. This is the breaking point. I will try one more subject and then close down this department. They've wasted eighty million dollars already."

_Eighty million dollars?_ she asked. _What a waste... _His journal entries were marked by month and year; she was in 1985 so far, her brother's birth year, so she skipped a considerable amount of pages until she reached 1989.

"Rebekah gave birth to a baby girl today; I felt terrible for missing her delivery, but they really want this project to succeed, even after all the damages we've experienced, financially as well as mentally. She called me (she sounded so tired; I felt awful for being partly to blame for her being in such a state) and told me our daughter's name would be Leila Atiya. I like it. Aasim and Leila. He'll be so excited to see his baby sister. Kaleb hasn't contacted me in a few months; his mother must be keeping him from calling me. I want him to know that he still has a father that loves him and cares about him."

_I still wonder where Kaleb is...I've never seen him before. Maybe I should ask Aasim—he's probably too busy with his wife to be right now...I'll do it later._ Leila beamed inside. When Michelle and Aasim were reunited, she could see the fire burning in their eyes—after she slapped him in the face for telling him she was safe. His face red and stinging, he apologized many times before he asked her to carry his last name, whether it carry a hyphen or not. She gladly accepted, and they started making plans for the winter of 2011.

Xena had given birth during Leila's absence; she had been rubbing her belly in agitated circles before she left for Alexandria. It was a boy, who would be named after his late father, Nicolaus. While all of this excited commotion was going on, Altaïr had been incapacitated for almost an entire day on a medical bed.

_He's not the sort to get excited about this kind of stuff. But I do hope he's okay..._ she thought, briefly returning to the kiss they shared before she hurried away. It felt cold, like there was no connection, but it satisfied her curiosity and she'd never do it again._ He warned me about kissing him a long time ago, but I did it again, anyway_ she giggled.

Sighing, she skipped the 1990s in her father's journal and stopped at 2006; it looked like an important year.

"After nearly a decade of hard work, I've realized that the problem is with the amount of power that we use to replace the DNA. It's too much. It destroys the amino acids and breaks down every cell in the body. I have to give the host just enough power from the Device to make the transfer succeed, but I can't find any more hosts for the desired subjects that they've asked for. So I've run through the list of Subjects they've used and disposed of so far: Subjects 1 through 13 's files have been closed, 14 and 15 are currently inactive, and 16 is being put in the machine on a daily basis. However, Subject 17 seems to be of more importance than the previous ones. He and Subject 3 are related to Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad, one of the better known Assassins of time's past. He doesn't have much time before they find him and use him for their twisted schemes.

I've found a close relative of his that lives close to Abstergo's building in Jerusalem, but there is one problem: he is dead. I knew it would be difficult to find a close match, but not as large an obstacle as this. The young man was involved in a car accident on the highway, and now he's been declared brain dead. It's only a matter of time before they pull the plug; I must act—" There was a loud knock on her door, and she jumped, dropping the journal on its spine.

"Yes?" she called out softly.

"It's me," his baritone voice came though loud and clear. Leila felt heat rise into her cheeks and her heart began to pound furiously in her chest. She figured he'd still be asleep.

"Come in." He opened the door to her back facing him as she stooped to pick up her father's journal. "I was just reading my father's journal. He finally said something about you—well, your descendant."

He seemed interested enough to listen to what she had to say. "What did he write about this person?"

"He's supposed to go in to Abstergo for testing, but they can't find him. His name isn't in this book, so I don't know who he is. I hope he can stay hidden from them. But, he had a relative in Jerusalem that died. I think..." she swallowed hard. "I think my father took his body." Leila turned the pages back to 2006 and found where she left off and kept reading aloud. "I took the young man's body and brought it back to the labs. I had to pay the hospital a substantial amount to get him, but it may not be in vain if I do it right. However, I can't help but feel guilty as I sit here, watching him as if he were my son asleep in his bed. He isn't aware of anything around him, but his body will still feel pain, and I don't want to be the culprit of his prolonged suffering."

2006 suddenly transitioned to 2007 and she read on, furrowing her brows: "Last night, I finally injected the serum needed to purge the DNA; nothing bad has happened yet, which is a good sign. I proceeded with the next step of injecting what little they recovered from the Assassin's tomb in Masyaf. The brain activity is still nonexistent, but it will take some time for it to recalibrate and adjust to the new DNA. I have decided to stay here until I know for sure that Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad has been resurrected." Leila looked up at Altaïr, who was quite pale in the face. His expression was unreadable.

"Go on," he asked her.

Licking her lips, she continued. "It's been two weeks, and the brain has been emitting electric pulses for the past three days. I am almost on the verge of tears; I've dreamed of something like this for nearly twenty years, and it's almost a reality. But I can't let them know; they'll destroy everything and take him back to Italy for further testing. We've been forced to shut down the genetic modification project, but I refuse to give this up. I'm close; I know I am.

It's been two months now, and I can hear him talking in his sleep. It's all nonsense, no real words, really. Gibberish, like baby talk. His arms and legs move erratically, so I have had to strap him down. The motor skills of the brain must be trying to work again. Other than this new observation, my family has become my source of happiness. Aasim is a brilliant young man—and quite the handsome devil, like his father. And Leila—she is the jewel of my heart." Leila let out a soft yelp, and put a hand over her mouth, trying to fight the tears that burned in her eyes.

Nevertheless, they began to fall onto the pages as she continued through her tightened throat. "I love both of my children that Rebekah gave to me, and I'm very proud of them. I've done the best I can to raise them to be responsible adults, and now the choice is theirs: to become an Assassin or remain in the darkness with the rest of the world. Aasim has taken a liking to the training he receives from his uncle while Leila continues to look out at the world, questioning, analyzing, and drawing conclusions; I hope she will make the right choice one day. Her peers treat her so badly for being different; it is just a precursor of the world outside of high school." The journal suddenly returned to the progress of the test subject: "His eyes have opened, but he isn't responding to any object I place in his line of sight, as if he's blind. I feel as if I'm watching an embryo grow and develop and mature over time.

It's been several months of sweat, restless nights, and hours and hours of close observation. He's fallen into a comatose state, but his vitals are very strong. His brain activity is off the charts. I have analyzed his blood: the transition is complete. Vidic has been asking why I come in to work so sluggish and aloof; I tell him that a lot has been going on at home and he shrugs it off. I can tell that they're on to something. It's just a matter of time before they come breaking in my office door and demand to know what I've been doing after hours. I don't have to tell them what they already know. They will come for him, so I have decided to move him to my hidden laboratory underneath my home. I've created a computer that will awaken him in exactly 2 years: April 12th, 2009. The Templars will come after my family, silently, quickly; they will cover it up as an accident or a mysterious disappearance and devour my company until it's another one of their ever-reaching tentacles. They will not stop until everything is under their control.

Why have I decided to resurrect Altaïr Ibn La'Ahad with free will? Because a human life is not worth living without free will. They will have wanted to use him seek out the other Assassins; I don't want that to befall him, knowing that he will be aware of his actions but be unable to stop himself. I know that he will do the right thing: protect my children and guide them. I know that they will be full grown adults when he awakens, but he will be a better mentor to them in the Order than me." Leila closed the book.

Adamian Saffar had nothing else to tell her. Sighing, she finally turned to Altaïr, whose color had started to return. He looked relieved to know the truth. Although, he looked as lost as he did when he first glanced out the window at the ever-changing world, the city lights and skyscrapers of downtown Jerusalem, wondering if it were real or if he were in a dream.

"Altaïr?" she asked quietly, touching his bare forearm. She hadn't failed to notice that he was bare-chested, but decided not to bring attention to it and question him about it. He broke from his trance and lifted his eyes to her concerned face. "Are you alright after hearing all of this?"

"It is...liberating to know why I'm here. But you and Aasim don't need protection; your brother is presumed dead and you aren't of any use to them any longer. Ilana has informed me that she erased all information in the Abstergo database concerning you with the exception of your deceased status."

Leila was confused. "W-what? Why would she do that?"

"Would you prefer them to pursue you further?" he asked.

"No," she replied quickly. "But everything? My birth date, my grades, my doctor's records. They're all gone. Permanently. Technically, I don't exist. I have the absolute freedom to do what I want. My parents left us more than enough money to take care of ourselves; Aasim and I are supposed to return to the Black Desert to find it."

"What will you do?"

She stared hard at the ground, thinking deeply for a few moments. "I'll stay here with the Assassins. If Michelle was right, there are very few of us, so we need as much support as we can get. I'm not very good at fighting, so I'll need to start training a lot. They need someone who's computer savvy, so I'll be perfect for it." Leila looked at him and smiled. "If it weren't for you, I'd be at the bottom of the Mediterranean with the fishes. Even though you were a bit crabby when we first met, I can see that you have a good heart. It just has a lot of hard layers that needed to be softened."

He tilted his head to the side,"Crabby?"

"Y'know, uptight. Reserved. Cold. Nonchalant. Robotic. Unfeeling."

"Only because I had to be," he revealed. "The woman I once...had strong emotional ties to was taken from me. I had never experienced such a devastating feeling before. I was helpless to stop them from taking her. My Master had warned me of becoming attached to a woman, for fear it would cause me to no longer think logically, but rather on what I feel. My duty is separate from my emotions."

Leila nodded her head in understanding, staring out the window. The sun bled dramatically into the sky, giving it a orange-red hue; the color of fire. "I see. It'd be hard to deny the heart what it wants, especially when you know the desire isn't necessarily wrong in itself. You couldn't have anticipated her being taken away, and how you felt about her wasn't your fault. Love just happens."

"When an Assassin is inducted, their duty becomes their priority, not their feelings. I had failed to keep that promise."

"But you don't regret it, do you?" she turned to him, watching him closely. He shifted most of his weight to one foot, his expression cryptic and cold. His failure to answer that question right away said it all. "You are a man before you are an Assassin. No one can deny you that right. You loved Adha and no one, including your Master, could stop that from happening. If you choose not to feel, you're denying the very essence of being human. And if not human, then what are you?" The silence in the air became more profound with each passing second, and Leila found that she couldn't take it anymore.

She breezed past him and stepped outside, peering out into the endless dunes of the desert. They would be abandoning that post and returning to civilization, but they could never return to Alexandria—or Egypt, for that matter. Abstergo would be on the constant alert after Aasim's courageous stunt at their facility on the outskirts of town. They had two choices: disperse into the other teams in confidential locations, or travel as one group, searching for the remaining devices in the Middle East.

The bunker door opened and closed, and the heavy footsteps of her male companion grew louder until he was right next to her. "What will you do now? You're free to explore a whole new world," she told him.

"As simple as that may seem, it would be illogical for me to strike out on my own with no resources. And I am not free as long as the Templars still move and exist. I am bound by the Creed."

"So you will stay with us?"

"Yes. It'd be foolish to try to convince me to change my mind."

Leila chuckled, turning to him. "You know me well enough to know that I'd try." He gave her a small grin and she elbowed him gently. He grunted softly and bent his body away from hers.

Once he settled again, he trained his eyes to the side of her face. "About that kiss..." he reminded her. He saw a faint hint of pink in her cheeks quickly flourish into deep red as she looked down.

"I'm sorry," she peeped. "I won't do it again."

She felt his fingers gently grab her sides and pull her towards him. When she refused to look up, he forced her with the tip of his index finger. His hazel eyes were eerily calm as always, but liquid and warm as he stared into her own brown ones. After a few silent moments, she realized that their hearts thumped in unison, loud and heavy. His bronzed skin was feverish, but not to the point that she was uncomfortable touching him for too long.

"There's no need to apologize when you did nothing wrong," his voice no longer a growl; it was more of a gentle tickle on her nerves, sending a hair-raising chill down her spine.

"But you didn't respond," she replied, searching his face for answers.

"You pulled away before I could do anything, and I'm not sure we would have left that room if I had." Leila thought about it for a moment, before she understood his words and she rouged again.

"Oh my," she gasped. "I mean, we would have had to, or Aasim would have freaked and then he never would have—" Altaïr quickly silenced her with his lips, holding her tight to him as if she would disappear if he let go. Leila felt like she was going to explode.

She wanted to die.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to skip for joy.

She wanted to fly to the moon.

He wanted her. _Her. _Leila Atiya Saffar. Impossible. She pinched herself, wincing at the sharp pain. This was real.

Leila drew in a heavy breath, running her hands through his thick, unruly tresses—

"Ahem," someone cleared their throat. The couple broke away from each other, staring at the intruder.

It was Aasim and a few others. He looked utterly annoyed, and the others had twinkles in their eyes, including Michelle. "It seems every time you two are alone, I have to stop you guys from doing the horizontal tango."

"Aasim!" Leila growled. "The last time was a mistake."

"A mistake is dropping soda on my new shoes, a mistake is forgetting my name; walking in on two people on top of each other who obviously had an agenda is _not_ a mistake. It's called birth control."

"Aasim, you are such a drama king! Why can't you be happy for me?"

"Because I'm your older brother; it's my job to make you miserable." Leila growled and covered her face with her hands. The Assassin standing next to her was intrigued; he'd never seen this side of her before.

"Leila, keep calm," he told her. "Don't give in so easily to anger."

She glared at him. "So says the guy who was ready to snap my neck for spoon-feeding him."

"Spoon-feeding?" her brother echoed, puffing up his chest. "When was this?"

"Aasim, leave them alone," his wife-to-be urged gently. "I told you before, your sister is a grown woman. She doesn't need Bro-Cop anymore."

Altaïr wrapped his arm possessively around her waist and brought her into his side. Aasim's eyes narrowed into slits as he glowered at them. "Fine. If she gets pregnant, it's not my fault," he mumbled.

"Aasim!" Leila gasped. "I'm not dumb enough to do that!"

"Yeah, that's what they all say until he holds your hands, looks into your eyes, and says the four-letter word. You do know what that stands for? Legs—" Michelle grabbed his ear and twisted it, hard. "Ouch! Michelle, what are you doing?"

"Making you stop. Leave them alone; they like each other, and there's nothing you can do. It's not the end of the world. Well...it is, but...you know what I mean. You know you wanted it to be Altaïr and no one else. Now let's go." She dragged him off while the others broke off from the small crowd and resumed their work around the camp elsewhere.

"Did you have to do that, Altaïr?" Leila sighed, pulling away from him. "You only made him even more upset."

"Our relationship is our concern, and our concern only. _We_ have decided to deepen our relationship, regardless of what he or anyone else says."

"I know, but I want as much support as I can get on this," she admitted. "I've never been someone's...girlfriend."

He held her gingerly by the arms, pressing his forehead to hers. "I will be all the support you need." The Master Assassin inclined his head for another kiss, their lips grazing ever so gently.

"Is that one of the two promises I want to hear?" she asked as his hands snaked down to her waist. They began to rock back and forth gently.

"What is the second one?"

"It involves a four word question every man asks his beloved."

He chuckled into her mouth. "That can be arranged."

"Good," she replied, capturing his lips with hers once again.

* * *

"What's the status of the Alexandria branch?"

"Completely destroyed, sir. All of the research that had been put into Project Revelation has been extinguished. There's no trace of it anywhere. The Assassins escaped. It appears Ilana Stahl was one of them." Her icy blue eyes watched as her boss threw a mug across the room and shatter against the wall on the screen of her laptop.

He clenched the edges in desk as if he were going to slam his head into its surface until something broke. "And Daniel?"

"He's dead. I'm sorry."

The dark-haired man drew in a heavy breath. It looked painful for him to even breathe, let alone open his eyes. "Those bastards killed my nephew." He stood straight and then ran a hand through his hair before he glared through the webcam at her. Daniel had those same soulless, piercing eyes. "And William? Have you heard from him?"

"No. They've left me out in the cold. I don't matter to them anymore."

"You're right where you belong, Ms. Stillman. I'm assigning you to a new case: Subject 17. We've been getting hits in the Mid-Western United States."

"Is that where I'm going?" she asked. The plane took off facing west, so her assignment in the Middle East was over.

"No. I'm assigning you under Warren Vidic again, in Italy. Our facility there has a pseudoscience you'd be interested in: genetic recording."

"You mean, reliving the memories of the deceased through DNA?"

The tall man in the black suit grinned darkly. The blonde felt a chill go down her spine, even though they were separated by an ocean and miles of land.

"Exactly. I believe...Desmond will be the perfect candidate."

* * *

End

**Well, here's the epilogue and the ending to a story that took me 3 years to finish. If anyone's wondering about anything or have questions about cliffhangers, let me assure you:**

**-Aasim and Michelle do get married**

**-Altair and Leila do date before they tie the knot, despite the problems they face**

**-Altair doesn't remember anything about Adha or Maria, or the children he had with the ladder; he experienced severe selective memory loss while in Abstergo**

**-Ilana becomes a part of their team in the Middle East**

**-Lucy is a confirmed traitor, unbeknownst to Clay and William at this time**

**-Daniel Rikkin doesn't exist in canon form, which is why I killed him off**

**-Robert De Sable was near-perfect in being recreated, but he had malfunctioning neurotransmitters**

**-Kaleb Saffar is still missing**

**-Adamian Saffar could wield a P.O.E without any damage done to himself**

**-Leila does meet Desmond eventually because of Ilana**

**Items 2,4, and 8 through 10 are reasons to create a sequel. ****However, I may not do a part 2 for a time. I have many other stories to finish. And it may involve just Leila and Desmond, depending on how I feel about letting Altair die. It won't be tragic, but it'll make sense why he would even though he's still "young".**

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
